


When I Put My Eyes On You

by Zzzara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward First Times, Best Friends, Blind Character, Blind Harry Potter, Blindness, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Dancing, Desire, Developing Friendships, Disability, Disabled Character, Dorks in Love, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Dreams, Drinking, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotional Sex, Emotions, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fantasizing, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gay Sex, Gentle Kissing, Halloween, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Healing, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Idiots in Love, Jealous Harry Potter, Jealousy, Kissing, LCD - Freeform, LCDrarry, Lights Camera Drarry, Lights Camera Drarry 2020, Literal Sleeping Together, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Masturbation in Shower, Mistletoe, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Harry Potter, Party, Party Games, Patronus, Physical Disability, Pining, Pining Harry Potter, Potions, Requited Unrequited Love, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Friendship, Rough Kissing, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Prompt, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Showers, Sleeping Together, Slow Burn, Spells & Enchantments, Spin the Bottle, Substance Abuse, Surprise Kissing, The Way he looks, Unresolved Sexual Tension, film inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zzzara/pseuds/Zzzara
Summary: When a hero defeats a villain, there's supposed to be a happily-ever-after... but when did anything ever happen to Harry Potter the way it was supposed to? Having sacrificed himself to the greater good, Harry is left alone in the darkness, blindly groping for the shreds of the life he knew.When the enemies meet, how is the story supposed to go, once they learn there's more to it than the eye can see?A story of pain, hope and things we discover, once we stop looking for them with our eyes.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 132
Kudos: 857
Collections: Lights Camera Drarry 2020





	When I Put My Eyes On You

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by the wonderful Brazilian film ["The Way He Looks"](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1702014/)\- a moving story of a blind boy and his budding love for his friend.
> 
> There are two songs that inspired me along the way: ["For the Last Time"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0qc1b55vqg) by Dean Lewis (I used a line from it as a title for this story) and ["There's Too Much Love"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=945bP-O2S2w) by 'Belle & Sebastian' (it's a soundtrack to the film and it appears in this fic on the wireless).
> 
> My love and gratitude to my wonderful betas:  
> [M0stlyVoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid)  
> [Mia](https://zzledri.tumblr.com)  
> and [EvAEleanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvAEleanor)  
> for your thorough and quick check-up and for your precise, spot-on remarks that made all the difference. Thank you! <3  
> Huge thanks to [Mia](https://zzledri.tumblr.com)  
> and [MaesterChill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill)  
> for britpicking!  
> *Don’t repost/copy this work to any other websites without my permission.  
> *Disclaimer: the characters belong to JK Rowling and other rightful owners.  
> *The author of this work does not support J.K. Rowling's transphobic opinions.

**When I Put My Eyes On You**

  
  


**_*When I put my eyes on you,_ **

**_I fell in love with you..._ **  
  


**\- 1 -**

"Look, mate--" Ron falters. Like he always does. Fucking _always_ does these days. "Look, I'm sorry… _fuck…_ Sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to…"

I know he didn't. He never means to. No one does. Yet, it happens each time. _All the time._

"It's _fine,_ Ron," I snap. "I don't mind. I’d be fine if you didn't bring it up all the time, okay?"

I'm so fed up with everyone dancing on eggshells around me, and with my friends most of all. It's as though they’re not them anymore. As though I’m not _me;_ as though we’ve just met - a bunch of strangers - trying to find common ground. And failing.

"Okay." Hermione puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. "So, what do you think, Harry?"

"No."

"Why?"

"What's the point? I'm useless, and anyway--"

"Harry, look, you need to finish your education." 

She neither falters nor apologises for the 'look', and isn't it what I wanted?

It pisses me off because now there's no reason to be rude and just tell them both to fuck off until they start treating me _normally_ and not like this fragile, broken thing I hate to be and yet feel like most of the time.

At the thought, a slap of guilt raises familiar self-disgust in me — an old friend. They care, they mean well, they try to do what's best, when have they ever done differently?

"And if you're going with us, you need to send your application form in a fortnight at most--"

"I think they'd accept him whenever he’d apply," Ron says, sitting down next to me on the sofa.

Yes, they would. Anything on the platter for the fucking Saviour. _Anything,_ they said. All of them. It's just that I don't need their favours, their praise, their help or support. I don't want any of it.

The one thing I want - no one is able to give me.

"I'm not going."

"Harry, what are you going to do, then? Shut yourself up in this house? At Hogwarts, you'd be amongst _friends._ You wouldn't be alone, you--"

"I'm fucking _BLIND,_ Hermione! In case you've forgotten--"

 _"I can't_ forget it, Harry!" I feel the sofa dipping beside me as she springs to her feet. "You don't let me! How many times have you said you don't want to be treated any differently? But you won't let us!"

"Hermione--" Ron begins.

She doesn't listen. "We are trying, Harry, all the time… You want us to behave like everything's the same! And when we do - you immediately remind us that it's not!"

"Will Hogwarts give me my eyes back?!" I shout. "What the fuck am I supposed to do there? I can't even do magic now!"

But it's not that… That's not what makes me sick down to my bones. It's just everyone - _everyone -_ every single person there will know me, will see me, will pity Harry bloody Potter, the fucking Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived Twice only to become no more than a helpless baby, a burden to his friends.

"The magic of Hogwarts might help you--"

"No! It bloody will _NOT!_ " My hands clench into fists. "You know it as well as I do; you heard what all those Healers told me!"

"But you _can_ do magic, mate," Ron says quietly by my side. "You don't have to be able to see to do it… you just don't want to, you don't give yourself a chance. You've been through a lot, Harry, and it's okay--" He squeezes my thigh reassuringly.

I'm fed up. Fed up with him being so reasonable, so understanding, so kind, patient, _everything…_ for fuck's sake, even Hermione snapped.

"Leave me alone!" I jerk away from his touch, shuffling across the sofa into the corner. "Leave! Now! Both of you." 

"Harry--" Ron rises on his feet.

"Please, leave. Just _leave."_ My voice cracks. 

There's a sound of a movement from Ron's direction, but then Hermione whispers: "Ron."

His footsteps retreat, they both move away from me, there's a swoosh of the Floo. They are gone.

I am alone in the darkness.

Covering my face, I press my fingertips to my useless eyes, smearing hot tears over my skin. I can't go on like this, I can't… I can do nothing. _Nothing_. 

No one is going to help.

"Kreacher!"

There's a _pop!_ to my left. "Master."

"Apparate me to my bedroom." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "I want to lie down. What time is it?"

"It is nine and a half in the evening." Kreacher's bony fingers close around my wrist. There's a jerk and a tug and a short swirl. My arse lands on the bed, and Kreacher releases his grip on my arm.

"Kreacher is bring dinner to Master."

"No. Bring me the vial."

"Master is had his vial today," he croaks, and I can imagine how his droopy face droops even more in disapproval.

"Oh, not _you,_ too." I grimace in the direction where his voice comes from. "I'll have another one now _and_ the Dreamless Sleep, too."

"Healer Musgrove is tell, Master is not drink more than one vial a day.”

“Healer Musgrove is not your master. Now shut up and bring me my vials.”

Pushing myself off the bed, I stand up and slowly head in the direction of the bathroom with my hands outstretched.

“Kreacher serves,” the elf croaks behind my back. 

There’s a _pop!_ of him disappearing and reappearing again in front of me. 

"Your vials, Master." His fingers close around my hand, turning it upwards as he presses two tiny cold-glass things into my palm.

"Thanks, Kreacher. Which one is the Calming Draught?" I slide my fingertips over the vials. "I'm going to take it right now. Uncork it for me."

Kreacher takes one of the vials from my palm, there's a soft pop. "Here, Master." Cold glass presses against my lips.

I take it with my other hand and tip the contents into my mouth, cool liquid spreading on my tongue. I swallow. It isn’t much, not even a mouthful, barely a sip. It is enough. Smooth and silky, its faint minty taste soothes my throat, spreading down, settling my guts, calming my frayed nerves. I take a deep breath, holding it in, and when I finally exhale I'm good again. Well, as good as I can be. 

"Thanks, Kreacher." 

My voice comes out fine and my heart isn't racing, and it’s as though I didn't yell at my friends some five minutes ago, as though I didn't break down when they left. The potion doesn't make me feel any better, doesn't make me reasonable, doesn't cheer me up. It just flattens my senses, subdues my reactions, dulls my emotions down. In a span of mere seconds, it turns me from a weeping howling mess into a brick wall. Great stuff. I've come to appreciate it over the last two months. Whoever had invented it was a genius. Hermione would even tell me who it was, I'm sure, if I asked her. My healer at St. Mungo's prescribed me no more than one vial a day. I often take two and couldn't give a fuck. Like today, my first dose in the morning was meant to bring me through the day, and everything was just fine, really. Until Ron and Hermione showed up to poke me about Hogwarts. How the hell was I supposed to make it?

"Put the Dreamless Sleep on my bedside table, I'm going to take it once I lie down," I tell Kreacher.

"Yes, Master." He takes the vial from my open palm. "Kreacher is put the vial. Vial is on the bedside table now."

The best thing about Kreacher, is that he does exactly as he's told. Literally. And tells exactly what he's doing.

"Thank you. You may go."

"Kreacher bring dinner. Kreacher made French onion soup."

"No. I'm not hungry. Go away."

"Master is not eat all day. He always not eat. Master is become too thin."

"I'm _fine,_ Kreacher. Go."

There's a _pop!_ and silence.

With a sigh, I gingerly take a few steps forward, until my fingers finally brush the doorframe. Sliding my fingertips down, I find and press the door handle, entering the bathroom. My hand automatically reaches for the switch on the wall before I drop it. _Damn_.

I piss and wash my hands and splash my face with cold water. My hand rummages for the toothbrush before I think: _'Fuck it, I haven't eaten since yesterday, there's nothing to clean,'_ and leave the bathroom.

Undressing, I drop my clothes on the floor where Kreacher will pick them up tomorrow and bring me clean ones. I climb into bed and lie for a while, thinking, remembering dully how I hated my glasses, how they always got in the way, how I wished to get rid of them. I don't need glasses now, I got rid of them for good. If I hadn't taken the potion, I would be weeping, crying myself to sleep. But I had. I am calm as a brick, but sleep won't come. And when it does, I will see _things._ See people and places as I remember them. See my life - so bright, vivid and real - that awakening to the darkness before my eyes will feel like dying. 

Carefully, my hand reaches to the bedside table, immediately finding the vial. Kreacher always places it just right, so that I won't knock it over. Pulling the stopper out with a soft pop, I bring the vial to my mouth and drink. I only have a few spare seconds to put it back on the bedside table, drop my head on the pillow and pull the blanket up to my ears before the Dreamless Sleep grips me. 

*

In the morning, I open my eyes to the usual darkness. 

They told me in St. Mungo's that only a tiny percent of blind people are actually fully blind. That most of them are still able to tell light from darkness, discern shapes and movement and even colours around them. 

I am not one of those. It's always dark for me. Just dark, black. Blank. Has been for over two months.

No. Two months precisely. Yes. It was the 2nd of August yesterday. I testified for the Malfoys on the 2nd of June. Malfoy's shocked face in the Wizengamot courtroom after my testimony was one of the last things I've ever seen. 

Waking up the next morning, at first I thought it was still the middle of the night. But the darkness was too thick, too whole, too encompassing. When my fingers touched the bedside lamp and pressed the button on… the sound was too loud in the darkness. Nothing happened. I groped for it, knocking it to the floor. When it fell, scattering the sound of shattered glass - terror gripped me all of a sudden. I bolted out of bed, my feet stinging as I leapt to the door. I tore it open and dashed onto the landing, catching myself at the bannisters.

"Kreacher!" I bellowed. "Kreacher!"

There was a _pop!_ right next to me. "Master."

"Kreacher! Turn the lights on! Why the hell is it so dark here?" I grabbed the air in front of me. "Where are you?! Answer!"

"Kreacher is here." His bony hand clutched my wrist. "Master don't see, Kreacher is near Master."

"What?! What do you mean?" My voice was shrill.

"Master don't see, " he repeated. "It is morning but Master think it is night, his eyes don't see. Master hurt his feet."

My toes felt disgustingly slick, I looked down, seeing nothing, and realised how badly the soles of my feet hurt.

There was a tug and a swirl, and, disoriented, I stumbled and fell on the carpet, Kreacher already helping me up.

"Sit down, Master." He dragged me along until my knees touched something soft and firm, and I realised it must have been the sofa. He had Apparated me to the living room.

In a minute, Ron and Hermione were there, and then tons of people, including Kingsley himself. In an hour, I was in St. Mungo's, healers arguing over me.

Then it was quiet, and I was on the couch in the office of Healer Musgrove, Ron and Hermione at my sides holding my hands. 

"We have been able to deduce the nature of your condition, Mr. Potter. We presume it has to do with your - hmmm - shall we say - past affinity to Mr. Tom Riddle."

Voldemort's civil name sounded so mundane that I barely stopped myself from asking who he was talking about.

"You see, when he - hmmm - hit you with the Killing Curse when you were a child, he unintentionally ingrained a part of his soul into the scar on your forehead--"

"Why are you telling me this?" I snapped. "Believe me, I already _know."_

Ron shifted by my side, and Hermione squeezed my hand.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. This brings us to the second _Avada Kedavra_ he used against you not so long ago. The one that killed that very part of him in you. We believe that - hmmm - the Horcrux in your head had meddled with your brain and the nerve-endings throughout those years, and its removal may have caused damage to your eyes."

"But… it happened a month ago," said Hermione. "Harry was perfectly okay until this morning."

The healer sighed. "We believe the process developed gradually and thus--"

"What should I do now?" I interrupted him. "To get my sight back." 

"I am afraid, Mr. Potter, we are not yet sure - hmmm - what can be done to cure your condition. The rehabilitation programme we offer will help you function--"

I didn't hear the rest. "I don't want to _function!"_

Wrenching out of Ron’s grip, I stumbled forwards and fell, catching myself on what felt like the edge of Musgrove's desk.

"Mr. Potter, I assure you--"

"I want to get out of here. Ron, get me the fuck out of here!"

Later, I remember crying on the sofa in my living room. Ron held me and Hermione stroked my hair…

"Kreacher!" I call and sit up in my bed.

"Master." He pops by my side.

"What time is it?"

"It is eight in the morning."

"Do you have a self-writing quill?"

"Kreacher don't have a self-writing quill. Kreacher is purchase it if Master need."

"Yes, I need it. And a parchment, please. Now."

_"To Minerva McGonagall, the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,”_ I dictate to the sound of the quill scratching against the parchment.

_Shit,_ damned if I know how these things are properly written _._ I prop myself against the headboard. Well, okay… the way I put it hardly matters much, anyway. 

_“With this letter, I submit my request to be accepted as a student to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the special Eighth Year curriculum._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry James Potter_

_03 August 1998”_

“Put this one into the envelope, Kreacher, and prepare another piece of parchment, please.”

There’s a shuffling of paper. “Parchment is ready, Master.”

_“Dear Ron and Hermione,”_ I begin. “No. Erase that.”

_“Dear friends, I want to apologise for the way I treated you--”_

Fuck, no.

_“Ron, I am awfully ashamed of the things I told you last night. Hermione, I--”_

Damn.

_“Guys, I’ve been a dick. I’m so sorry. We need to talk._

_Harry”_

“Kreacher, I want you to deliver this one to Ron and Hermione. Right now. When you are done, please owl the first one to Hogwarts.”

*

**\- 2 -**

“You all surely expect me to talk about formalities that should be undergone regarding your additional year at Hogwarts, and there is no doubt that I intend to do it later.” McGonagall’s voice rings, clear and strict as usual. “But for now, just let me tell you how happy I am to welcome each and every one of you back to Hogwarts. I want to thank those who, despite everything, decided to return and finish their education this year.”

I shift in my chair at the back of the class, imagining that heads are turning, throwing curious glances at me. I don’t know if they are watching, I’m not sure everyone knows. Ron and Hermione wanted to sit with me, but I told them I’d be fine in the back. Alone.

“And I can understand why some people are absent, why some students decided not to come this year… or couldn’t bring themselves to return to Hogwarts after everything they have been through.”

I run my fingers over the quill - back and forth, back and forth - soft movements over its feathery texture calming, steadying me, keeping me occupied.

There’s a knock on the door and the creak of it opening to my left, the sound of people turning collectively in their seats.

“Do come in, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall says into silence. “Please, take a seat, the class has already begun.” There’s a steeliness in her voice that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Footsteps approach, something heavy drops on my desk, there’s a scrape of the chair pulled over the floor.

“Would you mind removing your bag?” Malfoy whispers.

Reaching out, I find my satchel, pull it off the chair and drop it at my feet under the desk.

“Thanks.” A whiff of cologne, a shoulder brushing mine, a scrape of the chair as he gets himself seated.

I say nothing. There’s a shuffle of him rummaging in his bag before his movements finally stop. We sit. McGonagall talks. Running my fingers over my quill, I hear the moment when he starts taking notes, his quill faintly scratching over the parchment. I imagine McGonagall’s words in ink, neatly appearing in rows of his steady handwriting. Every time he moves, a whiff of his cologne reaches me, and I can’t say it’s entirely unpleasant. Fresh and clear and bright, it reminds me of clean winter air on a sunny day, or maybe of the salty spray of the wind over the sea. I don’t know. And dry wood? Something fancy and barely there. If it weren’t Malfoy, I would’ve asked what it was, and even maybe purchased it - not to wear, no. To keep it in my room. What a creepy thought. The smell is so _Malfoy,_ even though I like it - it reeks of Malfoy. Of his blond hair, his expensive clothes, his arrogant face and stuck-up attitude. Of his posh, annoying drawl and clipped consonants. Now, having Malfoy's scent in my room 24/7 - what the… 

“Potter.”

His voice very close to my ear startles me.

“What?” I don’t turn in his direction.

“Do you have a spare quill?”

“Don’t you?” I whisper back.

“No. May I borrow yours?”

“Why?”

“For fuck’s sake, yes or no?”

“No.”

“Right.”

We say no more and sit for a while, me running my fingers over my quill. He doesn’t resume his scribbling.

“Have you broken yours?”

“What?”

“Your quill.”

“Yes.”

“Have this one.” I offer.

There’s a pause, but then his fingers brush mine, taking the quill out of my hand. “Thanks.”

I don’t reply and keep staring ahead. At least to him, it might appear so. His scribbling resumes. I sit, wondering dully whether it’s the Calming Draught I took this morning, or if I really just don’t give a fuck about Malfoy anymore, because my lack of annoyance, my lack of _anything_ , towards him is surprising. The last time I saw him was during his trials. Gaunt, grey in the face, he avoided my eyes altogether after the one shocked glance he shot me when I rose from my seat to speak in his defence. I hardly hated him anymore, but he still was one of the few who could spark a reaction - something, anything, a knee-jerk response. I disliked, despised him and pitied him, but at the same time, I couldn’t let him be thrown into Azkaban - he didn’t deserve it. The odd mix of things he made me feel annoyed me, morbidly kept my attention, made me scan the newspapers for any scraps of information about him. Back then, he still was _somebody._ Now, I can't be bothered to care. About his past, or present, or future. About the fact that he bullied my friends and broke my nose. About the fact that I hated and nearly killed him. All of it happened so long ago, in another life, the life that had ended for me on the 3rd of June. All this no longer matters. Everything has lost its sense of purpose, and Malfoy's past significance in my life feels just ridiculous now. Now, he's no one, just anyone; one of the rest I can't see. 

We don’t speak again before the end of the class.

When Ron and Hermione come to pick me up, I hear Malfoy hastily stuffing his things into his bag.

“Alright, Harry?” Ron touches my shoulder.

“Thanks,” Malfoy says, and I feel the brush of the quill against my fingers.

“No problem,” I reply, and he is gone.

“Alright, Harry?” Ron repeats.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I reach under the desk for my satchel.

“I mean, didn’t he get to you?”

“I’m _fine_ , Ron.” I rummage over the table, gathering my parchment and stuffing it into the bag.

“Come on, Harry.” Hermione touches my elbow, and I get to my feet. “The next class is Charms.”

I put the strap of my satchel over my shoulder and take Hermione’s elbow. Ron takes my other arm, and the three of us head out of the classroom.

*

“Watch where you’re going, Potter!” Malfoy’s voice bristles when I bump into him after dinner, on my slow way up the staircase in the Eighth Year Common Room.

Gripping the bannisters, I say nothing.

“Forgot your glasses?”

Resuming my way up, I really can’t be arsed to reply, it’s most definitely the potion. Good.

“Shut the fuck up!” Ron barks and the buzz of voices around the Common Room dies down. “You, a fucking--”

“Leave it, Ron.” I throw over my shoulder and speed up the staircase, sliding my palm over the polished wood of the bannisters.

“Harry--”

“I’m _fine!”_ I snap at him from the landing, gripping the corner and moving along the wall to my door.

I’m not fine, not nearly. I’m fucking sick of it all, and it’s only the first day of the term.

Pressing my palm to the first door along the wall, I concentrate and think _‘open’_ , and it does - allowing me in. I've been granted a single room, and McGonagall has done everything to make my accommodations comfortable. I can’t - _don’t_ \- use my wand these days, but the wards around the room are designed to recognise my magical signature.

"What's the matter with Harry?" Dean's voice reaches me from the corridor. 

I realise I've left the door ajar.

"He's blind," Seamus replies quietly as they pass my room.

"He's _what?!"_

"Keep your voice down. He lost his sight a few weeks after he killed You-Know-Who."

"Fuck…"

"It was in the papers--"

I slam the door shut.

If it weren't for the potion, I'd feel the urge to throw something, to break and shatter things against the wall, to wallow in my rage and the satisfying sounds of glass smashing. It's still there, but very vague and dull - a ghost of a feeling - only a reminder of what things would have been, of what I could have been if I were still me.

Instead, I trudge forward, until my legs bump into the bed and pull my jumper over my head, discarding it on the floor. Crawling into bed, I close my eyes. 

Not that it makes any difference.

There's a knock on the door. 

"Come in," I say, expecting Ron or Hermione, and feeling the wards shift, allowing the visitor in.

"Potter," Malfoy says.

I sit up. "What do you want?"

"Look…" He hesitates. "May I come in?"

" _Yes,_ I already said so." There's a familiar pang of annoyance that used to lace my interactions with Malfoy.

There's a click of the closing door and the sound of him pressing the switch on the wall. "Do you mind?"

"No." I turn my face in the direction of his voice.

There are footsteps, soft on the carpet, and a smell of his perfume as he approaches.

"Look, Potter, I didn't know," he begins. "On the staircase. I had no idea. I'm sorry."

"Who told you?"

"Weasley." He moves around the room, his voice sounding to my left. "He was going for the kill."

"What are you doing?"

"May I sit down?"

"You already have."

"Yes." He snorts. "Potter, look… I'm really sorry, I hadn't the faintest idea. Sitting next to you this morning, I didn't notice anything. Now… you weren't wearing glasses, wouldn't take notes. It makes sense." 

"Okay." I don't know what to say to him.

"You seemed completely okay," he continues, "with your usual dislike towards me and all. I even thought that - you and me at Hogwarts again, hating each other's guts - the world seemed to be back to normal, you know."

His words make me laugh. For the first time in ages. I don't really remember the last time I smiled or even wanted to.

"I don't hate your guts," I reply.

"You're kidding," he laughs.

"No."

"Oh, well… good to know." He shuffles his feet on the rug. I don't know why he isn't leaving.

"Okay, I wanted to talk to you anyway, and now I'm already here, so…" he trails off.

"What?" I stuff the pillow under my back against the headboard.

"I wanted to… express my gratitude for your testimony at my trials. And to thank you for saving my mother."

"Your mother has already _expressed_ all that in her letter."

"I know, but I never did, so…"

"I didn't do it for _your_ sake," I can't resist saying. "I was in your mother's debt. A favour for a favour, no more." I feel ugly saying that, but somehow enjoy it, too.

"Then why help me?" He asks quietly.

"I didn't help _you."_ I pull the blanket up to cover my chest. "I was going against injustice. That's all. You didn't deserve Azkaban like your parents did. I would've done it for anyone." I don't know if it's entirely true, but saying it to his face feels satisfying. "There's no need to thank me as though it were personal." 

My pulse thrumming in my fingertips, I feel strangely elevated. I want Malfoy to drop his dignified pretence and be ugly. I want him to come back at me as only he knows how, to retaliate, say shitty things, and maybe I'd even like to punch him. Like the good old times.

"Okay, that's fair," he says, "I'll go." His footsteps head across the room.

"Why are you even here?" I throw at him. 

I don't want him to leave just yet because, for the first time in who knows how long, I've had a conversation with someone that wasn't all about my _condition_ or my needs or the ways to help me, or people's attempts to walk on eggshells around me. So what if it's Malfoy? At least he doesn't behave as though I might break.

"I came to _apologise."_ He says in annoyance, opening the door. "But clearly you don't need it--"

"No! I mean, at Hogwarts?" I lean forward, clutching the blanket to my chest. "Why would you want to come back?"

"I didn't _want_ to come back, are you mental?"

"Then why are you here?"

There's a click of the door closing, and I with a growl I fall back on the pillow. "Fucker."

"I'm on probation." His sudden voice startles me.

"Fuck, Malfoy!" I sit up again. "I thought you left. Next time, warn me or something?"

He doesn't reply.

"Probation?" 

"Didn't you know?"

"Did you know I'm blind?"

"Touché," he snorts.

I pull the blanket up to my chin.

"Aren't you cold?" He asks.

"Yes."

"Why wouldn't you?… Fuck, sorry."

"Oh, shut up. Don't start that. I'm sick of everyone apologising around me."

“I mean… you could ask McGonagall to assign you an elf, who could keep the fire going and… stuff.”

“I _know_ , okay?” I snap. “I do have an elf of my own, thank you. I can summon him any time.” 

"Why don't you?" He asks.

"I just don't want to," I say pettily.

That was actually what I intended to do a bit later - summon Kreacher after I will have wallowed in self-pity. Alone. But Malfoy’s visit interrupted me, and I’m sort of pissed off, but the mood is broken, and I hardly want him to leave now and let me resume my lonely suffering. 

"Okay,” he says carefully. “I'll start a fire, then?" He moves around the room. "Would you mind?"

"Do it."

There's a crackling sound, the smell of the fireplace creeps in the air... 

"Okay." I sit back against the pillow. "What's that about your probation?"

"Do you really want to know?" He moves around the room, heading back to the armchair to my left.

"Yes?"

"So… after the trials, mother and I returned home. We were put under house arrest. Mother, until all the reparations were paid from our fortune to the victims of war; and I - until the start of the term at Hogwarts. Eighth Year at Hogwarts was a part of the probation. I wasn't allowed to leave the Manor grounds for the entire summer. Not like I particularly wanted to. 

In the middle of August, the Ministry officer arrived to offer me a choice of probation terms. Either way, it had to be a public work for free in my spare time after classes. Between cleaning streets, a nurse position in St. Mungo's or brewing simple potions for them - what do you think I chose?"

"I don't know?"

"Really, Potter?"

"Well… potions?"

"You're right, I'm good at them."

"Oh, really?" I laugh. "I rather thought you wouldn't want to get your hands dirty."

"You dick!" He doesn't sound offended. "Though, that too."

The room's grown warmer, and I pull the blanket down my bare chest.

"Actually…" he clears his throat. "I spent the entire summer shutting myself up in the library. I avoided the _Prophet_ or any other news from outside, you know. So the library it was. The potions section. If you must know, I experimented, too. I felt like utter shit, and brewing helped me keep myself distracted… kept my mind occupied. That was the only thing I was interested in. I experimented with advanced stuff. So when they offered me brewing batches of simple basic potions for St. Mungo's, I didn't need to think twice. I filled the papers immediately, signing up to fulfil their weekly requests. They're going to send me lists of potions that will have to be done every week. I think I'll be able to deal just fine with Pepperup or, say, Calming Draught or Dreamless Sleep, stuff like that a few times a week after classes."

"You can brew a Calming Draught?" I ask carefully.

"Yes, and you'd be able to as well, if you weren't hopeless.”

"Fuck off!" I flip a finger in his direction.

After Malfoy finally leaves, I go to bed, forgetting to take my Dreamless Sleep.

_I dream of Ginny, of her bright laugh and vivid hair. She throws her hands around my neck. I lean in for a kiss and stop. No, we broke up, it's not fair. I turn my face away._

_"Okay, it's fair," Malfoy says, "May I borrow your quill?"_

_"No." I realise I'm holding him in my arms instead of Ginny. "What are you doing here?"_

_"I came to apologise." He trails the tip of the quill along my jaw._

_"Why would you want to?"_

_"I didn't want to, are you mental?!"_

_"What do you want?" I ask because his hand dips inside the waistband of my boxers. Yes. I'm only wearing boxers, whilst he's dressed up to the nines in formal robes._

_"To start a fire," he says, and his palm on my neck is hot._

_"Do it." I take the quill from his fingers, throwing it away._

_"Do you have a spare one?" He asks, staring me in the eyes._

_"Yes."_

_"May I borrow it?"_

_"No."_

_"Why?"_

_"I forgot my glasses." I trail my fingertips down his nose and over his lips._

_"You don't need glasses." He licks my fingers. "You can smell me."_

_"Yes." Suddenly aroused, I bury my nose into the crook of his neck and inhale… a mix of lemons and salt and sun and wind in the frosty air on his skin makes me weak._

_"Your perfume," I mumble, rubbing my face into his neck._

_"It reeks of Malfoy," he whispers. "I only have a batch for St. Mungo's…"_

_I catch his lips and don't let him finish…_

My moan wakes me up. To the darkness before my eyes. 

"Fuck," I swear, hand reaching down to squeeze my morning wood through my pants. 

What the hell was that? I don't stop to think. I shove the pants down to grip my dick.

Malfoy or not, the dream made me so aroused that I come, having barely begun. My hand messy, I haven’t even stopped shuddering or managed to catch my breath, when there’s a knock on the door.

“Harry?”

Fuck. I tug the pants up and wipe my palm against the sheets.

“Harry?” Hermione repeats when I don’t reply immediately.

“Yeah?!” I pull the blanket up to my chin. “Come in!”

The door creaks. “Hi! How are you?” She doesn’t enter the room.

“I’m good!” I smile.

I’m great, I’m fucking brilliant! I haven’t wanked in ages, and certainly not in the mornings after the Dreamless Sleep, and _this -_ now - felt so damn satisfying. I’m not about to tell her.

“Oh, great! I just wanted to tell you that it’s seven o’clock. You’d better get up, we’re going for breakfast in a half an hour. Or would you like to eat in your room?”

“No.” I sit up. “I’ll go with you.”

“Okay, I’ll come to fetch you then.”

“Good.”

The door creaks but then stops halfway. “You’ve left the lights on.”

“Er… yeah.” I yawn.

Malfoy forgot to switch them off upon leaving last night, but for some reason, I am reluctant to let Hermione know of his visit.

“Should I switch it off?”

“Yeah, I don’t need it anyway.” I wave a hand in her direction.

“Okaay,” she says, her tone a bit weird. There’s a click of the switch. “See you in half an hour.”

“Yeah.”

The door closes. 

*

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit with us?” Hermione asks when I get seated at the back of the Potions classroom, just near the door.

“Yeah, I like it here,” I reply, rummaging over the desk surface until my hand touches the cauldron in the centre. “I’m not going to brew anyway, I’ll just sit here and listen. I don’t want to get in the way--”

“You won’t be getting in the way, Harry,” Hermione says in exasperation. “Besides, I don’t think Ronald will be brewing either.”

 _“Hey!”_ Ron sounds offended, but cheerful, too.

I want to hug them both and tell them how much I love them, how grateful I am that they insisted and dragged me to Hogwarts, despite me being such a dick all the time.

“It’s okay, guys. I’m perfectly fine in the back.”

“Mate.” Ron briefly squeezes my shoulder, and they are gone. 

I sit, listening to the buzz of voices, to shuffling of feet, to people brushing past my desk on their way to their seats. I’m not afraid of getting in the way at Ron and Hermione’s desk. I just hope that _\- maybe_ …

I know he’s here a moment before he says anything. There’s the _perfume_ and a feeling of someone’s presence when the air shifts to accommodate him in my personal space.

“Hi,” Malfoy says carefully.

“Hey.” I turn in his direction.

“Would you mind if I… sat with you?”

“No problem.” My heart gives just a tiny thud out of tune.

“It’s just… all the other desks are already occupied.” He moves closer.

“It’s fine. You can sit here.”

He drops his bag on the desk, pulling the chair out, and finally gets himself seated.

“But I don’t brew,” I warn him. “Won’t be of any help.”

“You never did!” He laughs. “There’s no difference.”

“Hey!” I jab him with my elbow, and it seems like I succeed because he yelps and shoves me back.

“Fuck off!” I grab the edge of the desk to keep myself from falling. “I was the top of the class in the sixth year, don’t you remember?”

“It wasn’t you!” he scoffs. “Snape’s _textbook_ was the top of the class. Yes, I _know.”_

Grinning, I turn to him. “How?”

“Oh, Snape told me, have no doubt, what a cheating little bastard you were.”

“Harry?” Ron’s voice full of warning near me makes me jump. “What’s going on, Malfoy?”

“Nothing," Malfoy says too quickly.

“Harry, is he getting to you?”

Damn. “No… we’re just chatting.” The smile falls off my face. “It’s okay, Ron.” I’m grateful that Ron looks out for me, but his attempts at babysitting me all the fucking time… It’s so embarrassing. 

Without a word, Ron walks away.

Malfoy says nothing for a while, then: “Your friends are so protective.”

“Yeah, sometimes it’s too much for me.”

The Potions professor enters, and Malfoy doesn’t reply. The class begins.

I sit, running my fingers over my quill, listening to the scratch of his quill, to the clinking of vials, to the sounds of his knife against the chopping board.

“Would you at least tell me what you’re doing?” I whisper.

“Brewing,” he replies.

“No, I mean, what are you doing right now?”

“Stirring the contents of the cauldron anti-clockwise for thirty seconds.” His perfume moves closer. “Done.”

“And now?”

“I’m going to crush the mistletoe berries in the mortar.”

“Okay.” 

Berries crunch under the pestle, their sound turning thick, gooey, creamy as he works.

"Now," he says quietly and puts the pestle down on the desk, "I'm going to measure four and a half spoonfuls into a bowl. One… two… three…" He counts steadily, and there's a metallic clink of a measuring spoon against porcelain. "Four… and a half."

"Mr. Malfoy!" The teacher raises his voice. "Would you stop talking, please?"

"I am explaining the brewing process to Potter," Malfoy replies calmly, though I feel his voice wavers a little bit.

"If you don't mind, professor." I come to his aid. "I asked him to." McGonagall told me the teachers were made aware of my condition and are going out of their way to make me comfortable.

"Very well, gentlemen. Do proceed." 

"Okay." Malfoy clears his throat and moves closer. "Hold this." To my astonishment, he takes my hand, turning it up, and a small round bowl nestles into my palm. 

His fingers are cool, smooth to the touch, and when they withdraw, I realise my heart is hammering. Malfoy’s never touched me other than to deliver a fist to my guts, or to break my nose, or to clutch at me on the broom over the fire, his shriek deafening in my ears.

"You may as well help me and do the stirring," he says as though nothing has happened and presses a spoon into my other hand.

"Okay." Gingerly, I rotate the spoon in the bowl. 

" _Anti_ -clockwise," Malfoy hisses, putting his hand over mine. 

"You could've told me, yeah?" I make a face at him, beginning to stir the spoon anti-clockwise. "How long?"

"I'll tell you when to stop, go on." He is grinding something in the mortar. "Now. Stop. I'm going to add the powdered root of asphodel. Begin stirring clockwise when I tell you. Ready?" He moves so close, that I feel his breath on my face.

"Yeah." 

"Go on."

He pours and I stir, and then he's telling me he's going to add the mix into the cauldron, close the lid and let it simmer, and the potion will be done.

"Great!" I sit back in my chair and hear him gathering the vials from the desk. "One last question, though… what exactly are we brewing now?"

"What?" He laughs - a low, unabashed sound. "I mean… really, Potter?!" 

I laugh, and he laughs with me, and we're laughing, only able to stop when the teacher suddenly says over us:

"Well, gentlemen… Let's take a look at your potion.” There’s a sound of the heavy lid opening. “But it is excellent! Very good, Mr. Potter, very good." He puts the lid back and moves away.

"Excellent, Mr. Potter," Malfoy hisses into my ear in so perfect a parody that I can't help sniggering again.

"Now, class! I require your attention," the professor begins over the buzz of voices. "From this day, till the end of the term, you are partnered for the Potions class with a person you share a desk, _and…_ Silence please, Mr. Finnigan," he says at Seamus's whooping. "Each pair of students is to sign up for the year's advanced potions project, which must be presented in June, as one of the _criteria for passing your NEWTs._ Your assignments, with a potion of choice, will be handed down by the end of the month. Now, that is everything for today, you’re dismissed."

"Great!" I say cheerfully to Malfoy. "I'm useless. You are going to do all the work."

"You sound too happy about it, Potter," he scoffs, gathering his things into his bag. "Well, your friends are here," he lowers his voice. "See you around." 

"See you!" I reply, but he is already gone. 

Then Ron and Hermione are beside me. I take her elbow, he takes my arm, and we head out of the classroom.

"What was that with Malfoy?" Ron asks as we head down the corridor.

Only then do I realise this class was fun.

*

**\- 3 -**

"Watch the steps!" Malfoy says - too late - I'm already tripping over and he steadies me by the arm. "Fuck! Sorry."

"Nevermind." I dig my fingers into his forearm. "C'mon, we're gonna be late."

We were the last today finishing at Potions, and when Ron and Hermione showed up to pick me, I told them I'd be fine with Malfoy. And now we are late.

"May I take your arm?" I asked him.

"No problem," he said after a brief hesitation and moved close. "Here." He took my hand, guiding it into the crook of his elbow. 

Oddly enough, I'm used to it by now - to him touching my hand. I don't really mind. It's been almost a month. We are paired up for Potions, but in most of the other classes he sits with me in the back anyway. At first, it felt weird; now, it's a routine; and even Ron and Hermione ceased fretting, ceased asking if I'm alright.

I am alright - as much as I can be. 

Seems like no one but me talks to Malfoy. And I don't really want to talk much to anyone. Everyone treats me like I'm fragile, like I might break from a careless word thrown at me. 

_Oh, I'm sorry._

_Sorry, Harry._

_Do you need anything?_

_Do you need help?_

_How do you feel?_

_Are you comfortable?_

_Are you alright?_

_Are you sure?_

_Are you SURE?_

The more they do that, the more I hate it, the worse I feel. 

Teachers aren't any better.

_If you prefer private lessons, Mr. Potter, do not hesitate to ask me._

_Anything you prefer Mr. Potter._

_Anything._

_Yes,_ I reply, _Thank you,_ I reply, _I will consider it,_ I reply, _It is most kind of you._

I hate it, I hate them. I want to shout and stomp my feet. To say that I don't need to be treated any differently. To say that I don't need their pity, their coddling, their carefully chosen way of putting words; that I'm sick of it, that it would be better if they didn't bring it up all the time, that I would be happy just to be left the fuck alone.

_It is most kind of you, thank you._

Malfoy is the only one who isn't tiptoeing around me. Malfoy leaves me alone. Though he's around me more often than not - he leaves me alone. Sometimes he makes me forget there's any difference. His presence keeps me occupied and my mind off going on in circles. I've even ceased taking Calming Draught. I mean, occasionally I still do, but very rarely. Turns out, it's not fun - to be sitting next to Malfoy, unable to properly respond to his japes.

"Why so dull, Potter?" He hissed, once I couldn't be arsed to react to his remark about my poor potions skills. "The only thing that's still fun is making fun of _you._ And now you're going to deprive me of that?"

I told him to fuck off, and then I told him that I had taken Calming Draught, _because_ I was dosed. Otherwise, I wouldn't have said it.

He fell silent for a while.

"Well, it makes sense… Do you take it on a daily basis?"

"Yes."

"Healer's orders or?..."

"Yes." The conversation made me sort of uncomfortable, but since I was already dosed, I didn't care that much.

"How much?"

"What?"

"How much do you take?"

"Why do you ask?"

"It looks like a bit too much."

"What do you mean?" I hissed, moving closer to him at the desk. I had no idea I was so obvious.

"You know what I mean," he whispered, "not that I care, but keep doing that and you risk turning into a vegetable, mind that you're already halfway to that state."

"What do you care?" I sprang to my feet and just walked out.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione said near me as I stood in the corridor with my back to the wall. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing."

My friends didn't know I was on the potion half the time. I never told them and forbade Kreacher to mention it to anyone.

"You seemed to be fine recently." She touched my hand.

"Yes." I jerked away from her. "Seemed to be. Leave me alone, Hermione."

Malfoy's words hit too close to home. I couldn't go on like that, and I couldn't go on without it. I sagged down against the wall and heard Hermione's steps retreating.

Fuck. _Fuck it all,_ I thought, and was about to call Kreacher - to get me the fuck out of here and back to Grimmauld, when the bell announced the end of the class and there was a noise of chairs, shuffling of feet, people flooding the corridor.

"Potter," Malfoy said above me. "What the actual fuck?"

I didn't reply.

"Okay, I'm off to Transfigurations." Something dropped at my feet. "Here's your bag. If you want to sit here all day."

"Wait!" I called. "Malfoy, wait!"

"I'm still here," he said above me.

The noise around us suddenly died down.

"Wait, I'm going with you." Steadying myself against the wall, I got to my feet. "Give me my bag."

The strap of my satchel pressed down over my shoulder as he adjusted it. I reached out and found the sleeve of his jumper. I wasn't going to link arms with Malfoy, absolutely not, but I needed to hold onto him somehow, right?

"Let's go," I said.

Slowly, he headed down the corridor and I followed, holding him by the sleeve. Only then did the noise around us resume. When I heard Ron talking in a low voice behind us, I realised he'd been standing there all along.

I didn't talk for the rest of the day - neither with Malfoy nor with Ron or Hermione. After classes, Malfoy just escorted me to my room in silence.

That night, I summoned Kreacher and asked him to take all my potions away. Next morning, I apologised to Hermione and promised to keep myself in check. We picked up where we left off, and for weeks it would be very much the same: she and Ron walked me to classes, walked me to meals, dragged me to the library, for the walks on the Hogwarts grounds, to Hagrid's. I would let them. I would agree and be eager and laugh and participate. Fake it until you make it. Eventually, I would make it, and there would be moments when I felt no difference - the three of us together again, like nothing had happened, like in the good old times, like it was the same.

Also, this time there would be Malfoy. Often around, always at the back of my mind. I used to have him on my mind, nothing new - but this time it would be different.

He would never hang around with us or anything, but sitting together in classes - in all classes, not just Potions - would become our routine. 

"Hi," he would say, sitting down next to me every morning. He'd ceased to ask if it was okay.

Or if I arrived later, and he would be already seated, Ron and Hermione would walk me right to his desk.

"Hey," I would say, grabbing for my chair.

"You're late, Potter," would be his reply.

They would never address him, neither would he talk to them - or to anyone. None of his Slytherin friends came back to the Eighth Year. People avoided him, I realised, as much as they avoided me.

Once I heard girls talking in the library: "Draco is not that bad, look at him around Harry Potter."

"Well, Astoria, if you say so," someone laughed. "Though you'd rather prefer him that way around you. A bad boy turning soft."

"What are you talking about?"

"Everyone knows you've fancied him since forever."

"No! I just noticed he's changed, he's helping Potter, isn't that nice of him?"

"Hmmm…"

I don't know why, but I couldn't get their chat out of my head. 

"Hermione, who's Astoria?" I asked later that night when we were walking to my room.

"Astoria Greengrass?" 

"Maybe? I don't know."

She laughed. "Why do you ask?" 

"Dunno." I shrugged. "Just heard the name the other day."

"She's in Slytherin, sixth year. Daphne Greengrass' younger sister. She's quite pretty."

"Ah, okay."

"Do you know Astoria Greengrass?" I asked Malfoy the next day at Potions.

"Yes." He was arranging the potions kit on the desk. "Daphne's sister, why?"

"Do you know her well?"

"No?..."

"Is she pretty?"

"What's this about, Potter?" He lowered his voice because the class had already begun.

"Oh…" I shrugged, fiddling with my quill. "They say she fancies you." I couldn't resist adding.

"What?" He snorted. "Who says that?"

"Her friends." I turned to him and grinned.

The conversation amused me and… _something else._ I wanted him to deny she was pretty, or say she was stupid, or annoying, or that he didn't know whom I was talking about at all. Trust Malfoy to do none of the things I wanted.

"Her friends told _you_ that?" His voice was sceptical.

"No, I overheard them talking the other day."

"You're making it up." He shuffled away in his seat. "Everyone hates me, I haven't had a chat since I arrived with anyone here but you… let's just drop it."

That's when I realised that Malfoy and I were more alike than I used to think. Neither of us were too eager to be at Hogwarts; we were outcasts, each in our own way. But there is a purpose to everything Malfoy is doing.

_'I don't have spare time, I have to finish the batch of Pepperup for St. Mungo's till Friday.'_

_'I need higher grades to pass my NEWTs.'_

_'I need this project, are you kidding me, Potter?'_

_'I must finish my probation.'_

_I must, I need, I have to…_ he insists, and I… I don't bloody know. Hogwarts is as good a place as any, I just trudge on.

"Why would you keep doing nothing, Potter?" He asked me once. "When you could learn as well as anyone."

"What for? And how would I do that anyway? I can't even read, I don't know if you _noticed."_ I said icily.

"Are you a wizard or not?"

"I can't do magic properly," I bristled.

"I don't know, to me it looks like you don't want to, you prefer to pity yourself."

My ire instantly flared up. "You have no idea what you're talking about, you dick!"

"Maybe, but I've got an idea of how to make things work for you. Would you like to know, or would you rather keep whining?"

So this is how it had begun. Self-writing quill and the spell he taught me. I listen to lectures to the steady scrape of the quill on my desk taking notes after the teachers. Later, when I want to read them, I cast the spell on the parchment and only have to slide my fingers over the lines.

"It's done with a wand," he said, "but nothing prevents you from doing it wandlessly. Look." Without a warning, he took my hand, pressing it to the parchment. "Now, the spell is _Legere Digitus Intelligo."_

"Legere Digitus Intelligo," I repeated. Nothing happened.

"Concentrate, just the way you cast with your wand." He didn't remove his hand.

"Legere Digitus Intelligo." I pressed my fingertips to the parchment, and my hand jerked under his because there it was: the prickling under my fingers made me suddenly see words forming in my mind, as though from a golden mist. _The theory behind advanced Transfiguration,_ I almost could hear McGonagall's voice saying in my head.

"Whoa!" 

"Yeah?" He asked eagerly, removing his hand. "What do you see?"

I skimmed my fingertips over the parchment, pressing them into another spot, I realised I could discern written lines on the surface, they felt warm to the touch.

 _"...of the Animagi leads us to believe,"_ I read aloud. "Is that it?"

"Yeah! That's the line you’re touching now."

"Merlin, that's great!" Used only to blackness before my eyes, I was shaken, thrilled, exhilarated to be able to finally _see_ something - anything! 

"Do you think I'll be able to read books?"

"Why not?" He said.

We were sitting in the library, where he dragged me to try the spell out. He replaced my notes with the Potions textbook in front of me. "Can you read it?"

I tried, and I could.

Since then, everything had changed. 

I found myself interested, it finally felt as though there was a purpose. I found myself going everywhere with Malfoy and refusing my friends’ offers to walk me to classes more often than not. 

He doesn't care about my blindness. I don't give a fuck about his past. I've long ceased to care, really. It doesn't matter to me that he's an outcast. He doesn't give a fuck about the Chosen One bullshit, he doesn't treat me like a broken hero - a veteran. To him, I'm just Potter. I like it.

A few times a week after classes, he stays in the Potions classroom to brew for St. Mungo's. Sometimes, I even stay with him. He doesn't seem to mind.

"I am adding a few drops of dittany," he would say, "into the laceleaf extract."

 _"A few?_ " I would ask him. "How many?"

"It depends…" Would be his distracted reply. 

"On what?"

"On how it feels. Sometimes it's six, sometimes seven. It's usually between four and eight."

"How it feels to whom?" I would raise my eyebrows.

"To me."

"Excuse me? _The brewing process requires preCISION of act and inTENTION, Potter,"_ I would mimic his best, his most annoying drawl.

"Oh, fuck off!" He'd laugh. "The brewing process is also _art_ , and if you are hopeless, I can't explain these things to you."

"Art? Wow, you're an artist, then?"

"Yes."

"I'm so honoured."

"You're an arse."

We wouldn't notice the time until we'd be late for dinner.

Together, we're often late. Just like now, when we're hurrying to Transfigurations along the quiet corridors.

He suddenly stops. "Watch the steps."

"Okay." Gingerly, I take the first step up the staircase, and when my foot touches the stone, we fall into our quick pace again.

"Fuck, McGonagall will have my balls." Malfoy speeds up, and I hurry along to keep up with him.

We finally stop, there's a swoosh of the door opening.

"Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall's voice is as dry as parchment, "I will not tolerate your disregard for the schedule… Mr. Potter--" She falters as I step through the door behind Malfoy. "Well, do come in. Both of you."

Malfoy hurries into the room, and I trot behind, holding his elbow.

"Well done, Mr. Potter," he whispers as soon as we are seated, leaning very very close, and I am suddenly breathless in a whiff of his cologne.

*

**\- 4 -**

"Potter, I wanted to ask you something," Malfoy says as we head for lunch after classes. 

"What?"

"Not here," he says as we reach the door of the Great Hall. "I thought, we could discuss it in the library tonight. It's about our potions project."

"Merlin's tits, Malfoy! I thought it was a question of life or death," I reply as he steers me to the right, in the direction of the Gryffindor table. "No problem, just pick me up after dinner. And we'll discuss your stupid project."

"Alright." He stops, and I stop with him.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione greets me.

"Hi," Ron says.

"Hi." Releasing Malfoy's arm, I reach out to touch the back of the chair that is put for me next to the bench at the end of the table. "See you, Malfoy," I throw over my shoulder. 

There's no reply.

"He's gone," Hermione says.

She and Ron are still sceptical about Malfoy, but they left it alone after I asked them. Now, Malfoy often brings me right to my seat at meals and leaves to take his place at the Slytherin table. Hermione told me he sits alone, no one ever talks to him.

I sit down, and Ron asks me if I want some mashed or roasted potatoes and helps me fill my plate.

"Thanks." I pick up my fork.

"Oh, look," Hermione says, "remember you asked me about Astoria Greengrass, Harry?"

"Yeah? What about her?" I reply around a mouthful of food.

"She is chatting to Malfoy at the Slytherin table… hmmm… and she’s putting her hand on his shoulder."

I swallow. "Really?" 

"Yeah," Ron replies, "she is sitting down next to him." 

"Hmmm…" I supply, stuffing another forkful into my mouth, though my appetite is suddenly gone. "And what is Malfoy doing?"

I'm pretty sure he ignores her. I imagine his arrogant face, the way he glances at her down his nose, turning away to pour himself tea in the most stuck-up manner.

"He is filling her plate," Ron replies.

I put my fork down.

"He's pouring her pumpkin juice."

"He is smiling at her," Hermione adds to my shitty mood. "They are chatting… She's playing with her hair... Oh, just _look at her…"_

Reaching for my juice, I knock the glass over, feeling the cool liquid spreading over the front of my trousers. "Fuck… Sorry." I stand up.

"No problem." Ron casts a drying spell on me.

There is a problem. There definitely _is_ a problem. I'm not about to tell them. "See you, guys."

"Harry? Where are you going?" Hermione tugs at my sleeve.

"Just--" I put the strap of my bag over my shoulder. "Need some air. I'll be outside."

"Harry--"

"It's fine, I'll just sit on the steps in the courtyard till you're finished." Keeping my hands on the back of my chair, I gingerly step around it. "Take your time."

I take a step forward, and another one. With my hand outstretched in front of me, I begin walking towards the exit. No one gets in the way, and in no time my hand bumps into the hard wooden frame of the Great Hall double door. Sliding my palm over the wood, I step into the Entrance Hall and turn to the right, heading in the direction of the back door leading to the courtyard. The breeze caresses my face, the warm touch of the sun gentle on my skin. I sit down on the stone steps and turn my face upwards, inhaling deeply. I realise I’ve closed my eyes. Not that it makes any difference. I open them. No. I close them again, this way it's better. It's nice and soothing, and makes me imagine - makes me pretend - that I'm just chilling out in the sun, on the steps before Herbology class, waiting for my friends to finish their lunch and pick me up. 

_'C'mon, mate,' Ron will say, once they're finally here. 'Let's go.'_

_I'll open my eyes and smile at them, and spring to my feet, dashing in their wake down the stairs, over the lawn and around the castle wall, down the hill, on and on, to finally see the glass rooftops of the greenhouses glistening in the sun._

_"Damn, it's hot,' Ron will say._

_I will agree, but won't really mind, all the while grinning like a loon and noticing they’re holding hands._

"Potter."

I open my eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

I shrug, turning my face up to him. I morbidly want to know what his face looks like right now. Is it smiling? Is it dreamy? Is he satisfied, thrilled, excited? 

Is there Astoria next to him?

"Are you going to Herbology?"

"Yeah."

"Are you going with me, or… waiting for your friends?"

 _'Me,'_ he said. _'With me'_ \- not 'with us.'

"Are you alone?"

"Yes?" His voice is odd.

"Okay, then." I scramble to my feet. 

My foot slips, sending me reeling and groping at emptiness for one heart-dropping moment, needles of shock shooting to my fingertips, before his steadying grip is firm around my shoulders.

"Watch it!" He snaps, his breath sudden on my cheek. "You could've broken your neck." His arms around me are suddenly gone, and his hand grips me firmly above the elbow. He briefly bends down and straightens up again. "I've got your bag. Come on."

My heart still hammering, we head down the steps. "Thanks."

He doesn't reply.

*

"So." Malfoy clears his throat, and I realise he is nervous. 

"The project?" I offer, without a clue what this is all about.

"Yes, the project. The application is to be handed in two days, you know…"

"Spill it, Malfoy. What's the matter?" I cross my hands on my chest. 

We're sat at the library desk across from each other, a pile of books between us.

"What would you say if I told you that for our project I chose a potion that might return your sight?"

Something drops in my stomach. "What?"

"I've been having this idea for a while. It's not that simple, but I think I'd be able to manage if you helped me… that is. The potion needs to be tested."

"What?" I snap. "I'm not going to be your guinea pig."

"The what?"

"Nevermind. I'm not going to sign up for some stupid idea of yours, for some pathetic bullshit you're doing out of pity!"

I feel ill. Not that again. Not fucking _that_ again. When someone's attempt to satisfy their sense of duty, their pity, their _obligation_ flares my hope to life, making me wait, leaving me hanging, trapping me in that fucking circle again - the ever-fleeting cycle of hope and despair and _'regrettably no, but just this once, we will try again, Mr. Potter.'_

I know that, I've been there. Hope - my worst enemy - is ever ready to raise its head. I've been trying my best to nip any hope in the bud, to cease hoping, ever, to accept that there's no hope for me and finally begin to live.

I'm not having it, no. Not again. Not with Malfoy. Not with anyone. But least of all with him. Not when it's been good, it's been real, not when he's never promised me anything, and I was _fine_. 

I won't let him set this trap for me now.

"What?!" He asks, bewildered.

"Nothing. I'm sick of it, you have no idea…" I lean forward on my hands on the desk. "I don't need help or pity, least of all yours. Everyone has been feeding me that bullshit, and now _you_ , too? Nothing is able to help me anyway."

My eyes suddenly prickling, I turn my face away. Fuck. Isn't that stupid? My useless eyes are unable to see but still can cry.

When Malfoy finally speaks, his voice is quiet, measured. Pissed off.

"Why the hell do you think everything is about _you?_ Well, fuck you! It's not. I've been experimenting with this stuff for a while, and now that you came along, you could at least help me test it and not be the totally useless prick that you are."

Oh, how very _Malfoy._ And isn't that what I wanted? What I've been asking for? His words sting, let me down, wind me up, make me sick, make everything worse.

"Planned to pass your precious NEWTs at my expense?" I spit. "Find someone else." I stand up. "Some other _blind_ invalid willing to help you."

With the back of my legs, I push the chair away and rummage over the desk for my satchel. Finding it, I turn to leave, taking a few careful steps forward. Deep down, I expect him to stop me, or at least ask where I'm going, so that I'd refuse to tell him out of spite. He doesn't. Reaching out with my hand, I find the bookshelves to my right and move along, until they end and I step out of the alcove and into the aisle. After a brief hesitation, I take the right turn and head to the exit.

Malfoy doesn't stop me when I walk out of the library door, neither do I hear his footsteps behind as I descend the staircase, nor does he follow me out of the castle. At least, as far as I'm aware of. Oddly enough, I find my way onto the grounds easier than I expected. Slowly, with my hand outstretched, I walk down the hill, in the direction of the Lake, as far as I remember it. I'm not afraid to get lost, not really. I can summon Kreacher any moment. And it's Hogwarts grounds, for fuck's sake. What can possibly happen to me here, worse than already had?

When I suddenly bump into something hard on my way, I realise I reached my destination. Sliding my palm over the wood, I carefully walk around the bench and sit down. Leaning against the hard wooden back, I inhale a lungful, hold it, let it go. And again. The air is quiet, there's no tide over the still waters of the Lake and never has been, but if you _listen,_ you might hear. The faintest slip water makes over the pebbles and mud. And the _smell_ . Fresh and cool and so _water -_ how did I ever doubt to be able to find the lake with my eyes closed? They say, blindness makes all your senses sharper, more attuned to the world, so that you don't even need your eyes. No. It's all the same to me. But now I _pay attention_. To the tiniest things, signs, sensations. To the whisper of the breeze and it's direction. To the talk of trees in the distance. To the air cooling down on my skin, telling me the sun is gone, telling me it's getting late.

I don't know how long I sit here, but when Ron's voice startles me out of my stupor, my fingers are numb from cold.

"Harry! What the fuck do you think you are doing?!" He barks right next to me.

"Fuck!" I jump. "Are you mental? Next time warn me, okay?"

"Are you insane?!" He doesn't apologise. "It's quarter to midnight, Harry! We've been searching the castle for you for hours!"

"I just wanted to take a walk." I stand up, my feet disobeying me from the cold. "Alone. What's the big deal? I'm not a baby."

"You were wandering in the dark, away from everyone--"

"It's _always_ dark for me, Ron!" I shout. "Am I supposed not to set foot outside of my room?!" I grab my bag from the bench. "How did you find me?"

"I took your Map."

"You _what?!_ You've gone through my things?!"

"Yes!" He grabs my wrist. "I told McGonagall, and she lowered the wards on your door."

"How fucking dare you?!" I try to wriggle out of his grip. "Violate my privacy!"

"Well, fuck you, Harry, but I'm taking you to the castle." 

I kick, but Ron drags me up the hill. I've never been a match for him when it came to the physical side of things. I have no choice but to follow. 

"I hate you."

"Yeah, sure." He doesn't release his deadly grip until we enter the Eighth Year Common Room.

"Harry!" Hermione is by my side as soon as we enter. 

"Not you too, Hermione, spare me." I wriggle my hand. "Ron, would you _please_ let me the fuck go?"

"Don't talk to her like that!" Ron snaps. "And no. I'll let you go once we're inside your room." He drags me up the staircase.

"Oi, Malfoy! Nice to see you!" Ron says when we head down the corridor. "Here he is!" He releases my hand, suddenly shoving me in the back so that I stumble forward and catch myself against the door. 

"What the hell?!" I begin.

"Malfoy told me that you left the library, alone, and didn't show up. He was taking a little _walk,_ you see?" Ron talks over my head. "In the _moonlight._ And now you may have him back. 'Cause I'm fed up."

There's a movement to my left.

"And take _this,_ too. It's a map, will help you find him." There's a rustle of parchment. "Do whatever the fuck you want, Harry. Maybe next time you're lost, Malfoy will look out for you."

The retreat of his angry footsteps echo off the walls until the door further down the corridor is wrenched open and slammed shut. 

"Give me my map." I turn to Malfoy. Or where he's supposed to stand.

"No." He speaks from the other side.

I turn my head. _"Give me my map back."_

"I said no, Potter." There's a click of the door opening. "Now, come in."

"What? You're inviting me to my own room?"

"No." He grabs my wrist. "I'm dragging you inside." He pulls me along and slams the door shut.

"Holy shit! Are you manhandling me now?" I push him away. "Who the fuck do you think you are?! Give me my map!"

"I'm going to keep it," he says. "In case you throw another stupid tantrum and disappear."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't. But Weasley is done, and you’re an idiot. Someone has to keep an eye on you." His voice is harsh, sneering; I'm suddenly reminded of the Malfoy I knew before. He makes me sick.

"Fuck." I head to the bed and sit down. "Why the hell does everyone think I need babysitting?"

"Looks like you really need it. Honestly, Potter!" He paces the carpet. "Only the self-centred dick that you are could throw a tantrum over a _potions project,_ for fuck's sake! Making it all about himself and then disappearing out of spite, just to alert everyone. You're such an attention whore."

"Get out!" I shout. "Get out of my face!"

The door opens and slams shut.

*

When the alarm goes off in the morning, I ignore it, pulling the blanket over my head. Fuck it. I'm not going anywhere.

I'm already dozing off again when a sharp knock on the door startles me out of my slumber.

 _Fuck it,_ I think again. Whoever it is, I'm not in the mood. By 'whoever' I mean Ron, of course.

So when the door opens, and Malfoy's _'Pottah'_ is in the room, I can't fucking believe it.

Can't believe Ron didn't come to apologise first thing in the morning; can't believe it's Malfoy again, after everything he had told me; can't believe he opened my door just like that, what about my wards? What the fuck?

"Get up, it's half-past seven." He says as though nothing has happened.

"How did you open my door?" I ask from under the blanket.

"By hand." His footsteps approach. "It wasn't warded." He stops. Next moment, the blanket is wrenched off me altogether, cool air making me squint as though from the light. "Get up."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I suddenly realise I'm hard, and he no doubt sees my morning wood obscenely tenting my pants forward.

"Waking you up, you're going to be late for classes."

"I don't give a shit about classes." Now I have to sit up to conceal my erection. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, of course." The tip of his shoe touches my toes. "You're going to lie in the bed and pity yourself all day long."

That's exactly what I'd been going to do, but put like that his words piss me off.

"I'm not pitying myself!"

“Yes, you are.” He moves his shoe away from my foot.

“I'm not!” I _glare up_ at him.

“Looks damn well like you are!” He steps back. “Not that I care, but you behave like a ninny. Whatever, Potter, but I didn’t expect it from you.”

His words, the disdain in his voice as he says them, make something stir in me. I hate it. I hate how he makes me feel.

“Fine!” I spring on my feet and head to the bathroom, suddenly bumping into him on my way. 

“Watch where you’re going.” His voice is sharp, but his hands are careful as he steadies me by the shoulders.

“Don’t get in the way!” I throw pettily and finally reach the door. “Sit down and wait for me then. I’m going to your stupid classes.” 

“Kreacher!” I call, storming out of the loo. “Bring me clothes and take these ones away.” I gesture vaguely around the room as the elf pops by my side.

“Yes, Master. New clothes is on your bed, Master.” With a _pop!_ he disappears.

I approach the bed and rummage over the pile of clothes. A sock. And another one. I sit down and tug them on. 

“Turn away,” I tell Malfoy. “I’m going to change my pants.”

He says nothing, and I assume he did turn away. Or he didn’t. I don’t know. Not that I care. I’m not sure why I asked him to turn away in the first place. I tug my boxers down and hastily meddle with the new ones. Done. Okay, my shirt. I put it on, buttoning it down. Trousers. On. Tucking the shirt in, I fumble with the belt buckle.

“Do you need help?” Malfoy asks from the other end of the room, his voice oddly distant.

“No. I’m perfectly capable of… fuck!” I’m having a problem with the buckle. I could have asked Kreacher to help me dress - as usual - and be ready in no time. I’m not going to make a spectacle in front of Malfoy, having myself dressed like a baby.

Finally done with the belt, I sit on the bed and bend down to find my shoes. I put them on and fumble with the laces. Will do. I reach for the pile and pick a tie up. Shit. I hold it in my hand.

“Do you need help?” Malfoy repeats.

“Yes.”

I hear him rising up from the armchair, the whisper of his footsteps over the carpet, first his perfume approaches, and then he takes the tie out of my hand.

“Stand up.”

I do.

He steps very close, leaning in… and I feel his fingers pulling the collar of my shirt up. He puts the tie around my neck. I swallow. I don’t know what’s the matter with me, but his proximity is doing things. To me. Goosebumps are rising over my forearms under the fabric, I keep myself from inhaling his smell in a lungful. The deft movements of his fingers at the base of my throat make me hold my breath, until he pulls the collar down, adjusting it over the tie, and steps back. I’m not sure what has just happened, but I’m relieved when he withdraws. 

“There.” 

“Thanks.” My hand reaches up to touch the knot. “I never knew how it’s properly done, you know, even when I could see.”

“Look, Potter.” His voice is odd. “I behaved like a dick last night. But I’m not sorry.”

The moment is broken, this makes me laugh. "Trust you to apologise like that: I’m not sorry.”

“I’m not apologising. You could've broken your neck - alone - on one of these moving staircases.”

“I wasn't born blind, you see.” I reach for a jumper folded on the bed. “I walked them before.”

“But not with your eyes closed.”

“Sometimes I did, too,” I reply with my head stuck in the jumper.

His hands are on me again as he tugs it down over my head. “I always knew you were crazy.”

“Maybe in this, you weren't wrong.” I put my arms through the sleeves and spread the soft fabric down my front and sides. 

“Maybe?” He snorts behind me. “Most certainly, more like.” I feel his hands on my back, pulling the jumper down from where it got stuck under my armpits.

“Thanks.” I turn to him. “You know…I’ve been thinking...” I hesitate. _Why not? There’s nothing to lose, not for me anyway. And hope? Fuck hope. I had lost it long ago. I don’t believe in hope._

“Okay, let's do your project, why not? But if it doesn’t work and you fail your NEWTs - I'm not the one to blame.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

“Let’s go. We barely have time for breakfast.”

He takes my hand, guiding it into the crook of his elbow, and we are off.

*

**\- 5 -**

“I need you to cast your Patronus,” he says.

We are in the lab, it's late, and my eyes are closing.

I don’t open them.

"Now?" I ask with my chin propped on the book on the desk. "I can't do it right now. Or ever."

Yeah, that's how things are. I'm not even sad about it or anything. Right after the war, even when I still could see, I was never able to do that again. Patronus just wouldn't come. The most I could manage were wisps of silver mist from my wand.

"Why would you need it?"

"Fuck…" He is gathering the vials from the work table, putting them into the wooden box for St. Mungo's. "Then I need you to be able to cast it. For the project."

"How would you use a Patronus for a potion?" 

“Well, it’s complicated, but - simply put - the essence of a Patronus can be turned liquid with a spell and collected, and then added into the potion at the final stage.” The clinking of glass ceases.

“And without a Patronus?” I ask.

“The whole thing won’t work. The Patronus is the final and most vital component that ties it all together _and_ makes it work specifically for the individual whose Patronus it is.”

“So it would be useless for anyone else?”

“Yes,” he says. “I’m done for tonight.”  
“Okay.” I stand up, putting my book into my bag. Then I remember something. “Even if it so happens that two people have identical Patronuses?”

“Even then, yes.” He comes close. “Let’s go?”

“Yeah.” I take his arm above the elbow. “I just thought… you know... about my mother and--”

“And Snape, I figured.” He starts walking and I follow. “But initially their Patronuses weren’t identical,” he explains as we exit the lab, heading down the corridor. “In Snape’s case, it was just… a manifestation of his unrequited love or… obsession, or whatever it was. Their personalities weren’t the same, and neither were their Patronuses in their essence. So your mother wouldn’t have been able to use a potion that contained Snape’s Patronus to restore her sight if there were a need and vice versa.”

“You are such a nerd.” I jab him in the ribs.

“Can’t say the same about you, and it’s not a compliment to your learning abilities, believe me.”

“I don’t believe in compliments from you, ever.”

“Most wise of you.” We take a turn and briefly stop before the staircase. “Steps,” he warns.

I know now, I'm able to take this route by myself. I put my foot on the first step, and then we fall back into our brisk pace.

“But really,” he says, “I’m serious about your Patronus. You will have to learn how to cast it again while the base and the essence of the potion are brewing.”

“How much time do I have?” 

“About a month.”

*

I don’t think I’ll succeed in a month. If ever. 

I’ve dug my wand up from the bottom of my trunk. Not only does it not help, it feels like it’s getting in the way.

“Expecto Patronum!” Again and again. I’m stubborn, insistent, I don’t give up. It doesn’t work. That’s not how it works. I, of all people, should know. I know. 

Something is missing. It’s just not there. The spark is not there. There’s no spark.

He says nothing. He’s always there. A witness to my failure. He waits. 

We try it outside. On the grounds, by the Lake, near the Quidditch pitch. It never works.

I tell him how Lupin taught me. About the Boggart-Dementor and chocolate.

“That was a really fucked up way,” he says, “to learn how to produce the essence of happiness. How in hell were you supposed to succeed?”

“I did.”

“You were mental.”

“I was.” I was.

I was thirteen. I could cast a Patronus to set a hundred Dementors on fire. 

Now, I can do nothing. Only five years have passed, but I feel old. The spark is gone.

“I think…” He takes me by the arm. “Maybe you should try and start using your magic? Wandlessly? Simple spells?” We head up the hill, back to the castle. “Maybe it all comes to that?”

“Maybe,” I reply. “I could try. How much time is left?”

“Two weeks.”

*

“What would you say about a broom ride?” He asks me one day after classes. 

I stop so abruptly that he nearly trips. “A broom ride?”

“Yes, why not? After the Quidditch training session, once they’re done and the pitch is empty. On Sunday. What do you think?”

“How am I supposed to ride? Are you taking the piss?”

“We could ride together, you’ll just have to hold tight onto me.”

“I don’t know, I…” 

His offer, his words make my heart squeeze, make me ache with a thrill of anticipation and bitterness for something I’ll never have, something that is forever lost for me, something that… I would give anything to have it back.

“Come on, Potter, don’t tell me you’re scared.”

 _Fuck it,_ I think, _Fuck it, I’ll have this ride._

“Sunday,” I bristle. “On the Quidditch pitch.”

*

 _“Scared,_ Potter?” He says as I lock my hands around his chest.

It’s Sunday afternoon. The Quidditch pitch is deserted. We are about to do the most stupid thing.

“You _wish.”_ I hiss right into his ear, my lips grazing his skin. 

I only have a moment to acknowledge the odd _something_ in my guts this little touch makes me feel before he kicks off the ground and bellows _“Hold ON!”_

Wind gushes in my ears, I press my cheek to his back, clutch him dead around the middle and hold on for dear life.

I’m scared, so fucking scared. Too late. There’s only him, me, and the sky. The wind, the cold, my head spinning, the breath knocked out of my lungs, the nothingness of it around, and the vertigo of the height speeding up. I’m scared out of my mind, his body against mine the only thing real in the dark. 

_Hold on._

“You alright?” He asks, as soon as our feet touch the earth.

“Yeah,” I reply in an alien voice.

“Potter?” His hands reach to unlock my grip around his chest as he hops off the broom. “Take my hand.”

I feel his gloved palm under mine.

“Lean on me.” He helps me to the ground. "Potter?"

"What?" My hand still rests on the hard leather of his Quidditch gauntlet.

"You look like shit." He doesn't release my hand. "Was it any fun?"

"It was… it was fucking terrifying," I reply, "but brilliant, too. I never thought... how different would it feel if I tried to fly with my eyes closed."

"Well, okay…" Malfoy finally drops my hand. "We probably shouldn't have done it. Potter?”

“What?” I realise I miss the touch of his hand, even the gloved one. 

“You’re shaking, are you cold?” He steps close again, probably to peer me into my face. “You aren’t going to pass out on me?”

“I’m cold,” I say, my teeth chattering. “That’s all.”

“Okay, good.” He grabs my hand again, squeezing it between the ridged leather of the gauntlet. “Come on.”

“Okay,” I agree and follow him, without asking where he’s leading me.

He opens the door, leading me in, and by the smell of it, by the empty echo of our footsteps against the tiled floor, I realise we are in the locker room.

“Take your clothes off.” He says, and there’s a sound of him unfastening the buckles of his gloves, a rustle of fabric discarded.

“A shower?” Feeling strangely light-headed, I reach for the hem of my quidditch jumper, pulling it over my head.

“A hot shower.” He discards his boots.

Suddenly hot all over, I nod and tug my undershirt off. There’s not much to say, really. We’re going to wash. Together. With Malfoy. That’s all. No big deal. I’m not cold anymore, not nearly, and it seems like I’m shaking because of the entirely new reason. I’m not going to tell him. There’s nothing to tell, I haven’t even told it to myself. My boots are off, my joggers, I proceed undressing, until only my boxers are left on.

“Let’s go?” I say, reaching out with my hand to find him because he has fallen suddenly quiet.

“Do you always wash with your pants on?” He asks.

“No--” I falter when he catches my hand.

Pulling me along, he doesn’t reply, and I’m relieved that he dropped the subject. We enter the showers.

“So, here’s the spray.” He turns the tap on and hot water rushes down my shoulders. “Here’s soap and shampoo.” He splutters, pressing my hand into a bar of soap in the metallic crate. “I’ll be right next to you.” 

He steps away, and water begins running to my right.

“Thanks.” I smooth my hair back under the spray and find the soap. “That’s much better. It was freezing up there.” I run the soap over my chest.

“Yeah… the way you looked after… like you were going to pass out.”

I wash the soap off my chest and shoulders, sudsy water soaking through my pants. I need to wash it out. Fuck. Turning my back to Malfoy, I reach under the waistband, trying to make sure there’s no soap there.

“You’re ridiculous, Potter,” he says behind me. “What are you doing?”

“Er… nothing?” I snatch my hand out of my pants. 

He doesn’t reply, the steady rush of water the only sound in the room.

It strikes me that Malfoy is fully naked right now, right next to me. And he doesn’t have to worry about me seeing his dick.

 _Fuck it._ I shove my boxers down, discarding it on the floor and let the water wash the suds away. Malfoy behind me is quiet. _He’s probably looking at my arse,_ I think, reaching for the shampoo.

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” Lathering my hair up, I turn to face him, because f _uck it, bare dick or not,_ it’s stupid to talk over the water with my back to him, and anyway, why am I making such a big deal out of it? “Are you going to the Halloween party?”

“I don’t know,” he says in an odd voice, “haven’t decided yet. And you?”

“Maybe I will, I mean... why not?” I wash the shampoo out of my hair. “Though I don’t dance, I’ll just sit in a corner.”

“After a drink or two, everyone can dance.” He switches the water off. “I’m done here.”

“Already?” 

“Yes. I’ll be in the locker room.” His voice sounds weird. “Call me if you need anything.” He retreats.

“Okay.” 

*

_*When I told you that I loved you,_

_You couldn't tell I was lying,_

_'Cause I put a spell on you_

_When I put my eyes on you…_

I close my eyes and concentrate, evoking the memory I've been recently holding close to my heart, cherishing a secret, guarding it even from my own prying thoughts.

Reaching deep down, I put myself into the spell… and when it finally feels as though I'm soaring high, brimming with joy, I _know:_

“Expecto Patronum!” 

My magic surges through me in a searing flash of brightness.

"Whoa!" Malfoy cries out.

I firm my grip on the wand, channelling it, keeping it going, though this time it takes no effort at all. I feel its radiant presence inside and out, and all around me. _Prongs._

"Hold on!" Malfoy's voice bright and bewildered, he moves around me. "Patronus Essentia Liquidus!"

I hold on, basking in the light, filling myself to the brim with the warmth long-forgotten, an embrace of an old friend. _I missed you._

It requires all I have, everything I can give, all my energy, strength and power - this is what it takes, and yet… It is giving more than it's taking, lifting me up, _lighting_ me up, restoring something long-lost and forgotten.

"Got it!" Malfoy says.

Slowly, I release my hold on the flow, slowing it down, letting it go, until with one last final spark it dissolves. I know it's not entirely gone, it hasn't fully disappeared. I feel its luminous presence in my core. The spark is there. Any time I can light it back. Any time.

I lower my wand. 

Malfoy is silent.

"Well?" I ask. I'm not sure where he is right now.

"That was… that was a Stag," he says to my right, making me turn to him.

"I know!" I laugh. "What else would it be?"

"I mean…" He says uncertainly. "I've never seen it before… you casting your Patronus."

"Yeah, well… where would you see it?" I ask, though I know it's not what he's talking about.

"It's… magnificent," he says quietly, "I can't believe you could cast it when you were thirteen."

"I recently couldn't believe it myself," I reply. Receiving praise from Malfoy feels oddly exhilarating and embarrassing at the same time. "So, you collected it?"

"Yes. Its essence." He steps closer. "Into the vial. And now we're going to try the potion out, once it's ready."

"Yeah, sure." I stifle the spark of hope. 

No. I must erase anything, any trace or reminder of that traitorous flutter in my chest that used to come in disguise of a friend and stay to torture me.

"Let's go?" I reach for his arm. 

"Yeah." He moves closer, letting me slip my hand into the crook of his elbow.

"Which memory did you choose this time?" He asks as we head back to the castle.

"Our… the moment I hugged Ron and Hermione right after I killed Voldemort," I lie.

"Well, that's… a powerful one," he replies quietly.

"Yeah… we… just stood there, crying, and--"

"Yeah, I… I saw you," he says, "I remember."

I don't know why, but I find myself unable to tell him the truth. 

No, if I'm honest, I probably do. Because it's a secret - a secret from him, first of all - a revelation of that terrifying, wild, heart-stopping moment when I clung to him on the broom, his warmth, his hard body my only anchor amidst the abyss. That was what made my Patronus flare to life.

*

Late at night, after I have just gone to bed, there's a knock on my door.

"Come in!"

The door creaks open. "Potter?"

My heart gives a jolt, as it often does around Malfoy. "Yeah?" I sit up.

He clicks the switch on the wall. "Oh… I woke you up."

"No, come in."

He closes the door, heading across the room until he stops right next to my bed.

"So, here it is." There's a sound of him placing something on the bedside table. "Visus Reddo Integria."

"The what?" 

"Our _potion project,_ Potter."

"Oh…" My heart drops. "You mean, it's ready?"

"Yes, I've brought you a sample to test."

"What, now?" I am suddenly scared, suddenly breathless, suddenly totally unprepared for this.

"Sorry for the late hour, but it takes from four to six hours to kick in, and I think it would be better if you took it before going to bed."

"Okay," my voice shakes a bit.

"I mean… you can either take it now or wait till tomorrow night. But don't drag it out for too long. Its properties stay intact within the next 72 hours. I've just finished it."

"No, I'm taking it now." My hand is already reaching to the bedside table. Fuck it, fuck it all. I'm just gonna take it.

He grips my wrist. "Calm down, Potter, no need to knock it over."

He drops my arm and there's a pop of the vial being uncorked before cool glass presses to my lips. I cover his hand with mine over the vial and tip the contents into my mouth. Done.

It tastes fresh and watery, a bit minty, nothing extraordinary. Certainly not the way something containing the essence of happiness is supposed to taste.

"Now what?" I drop his hand, and he takes the empty vial away.

"Now you go to bed and we'll see in the morning." His footsteps retreat, he switches the lights off. "Good night."

"Thank you," I say into the room, but he already closes the door.

*

_'When I put my eyes on you…' He whispers._

_'Malfoy?'_

_'When I put my hands on you…'_

_His fingers slide into my hair and over my face, tracing my jaw and lips and nose._

_'Malfoy?' I grope the darkness, my hand bumping into his face._

_He presses a kiss into my palm._

_'Malfoy, is it you?'_

_I touch his neck and bare shoulder and trace my fingers down his arm._

_'I put a spell on you…'_

_His palm presses to my heart._

_'Expecto Patronum.'_

_A searing Dragon tears the darkness, for a fleeting moment letting me see a flash of Malfoy's smile in his silver eyes…_

_'Draco…' I whisper_

_before everything goes black again._

I start awake.

It's white before my eyes. _White._

I can see nothing, but the _nothing_ is not black, it's white.

The alarm goes off in the air, making me swear and jump. It's seven in the morning. Fuck, it's morning.

That's what this is.

There's a knock on my door. "Potter?"

"Come in!" I shout and sway my legs off the bed.

"Potter?" He stops. "Are you?..."

"No," I reply, my heart squeezing, "but I can see the light."

"The light?" He approaches.

"The light. It's morning, and I see it."

No. No hope. Fuck hope. I killed all the hope that remained, and then checked thoroughly and killed it again. I didn't hope anyway.

"What do you see?! Can you see me?"

"No, I just can tell day from night, I suppose." Moving forward, I reach out with my hand. "Before, it was always dark, just black." My fingers brush against _his face,_ there's skin and a scratch of stubble and softness of lips. I jerk away. "Sorry… and now it's… I can see the light, but nothing else."

"Wait." His shoulder briefly brushes mine as he steps around me. "Wait," he repeats from behind, and his hands cover my eyes. "Is there any difference?"

"Yes." My voice suddenly scratchy, I carefully exhale, because _his_ _hands… on my face… they're warm… and… his cashmere_ _jumper… is so soft against my bare back… I shiver… his smell… clear and bright… lemons in icy water… salt on the wind... sun on the snow… whisper_ of _pine-trees in the hot air…_ I blink, feeling a flutter of my eyelashes over his palm.

"What exactly?" His voice is odd. He removes his hands and places them back again.

"It's dark when you cover my eyes." I put my hands over his, slowly pulling them away. "And now it's not."

"It worked," he whispers and steps back, extricating his fingers from mine. "But… not exactly." He clears his throat, and his voice is back to normal again. "There's probably something I didn't take into account."

"What?" I turn around to face him.

"I'm not sure yet. Probably your Patronus wasn't powerful enough to… I mean, the memory you chose wasn't enough to sustain a Patronus sufficient for…" He exhales. "Fuck."

"No problem." I feel strangely hollow. "We'll try again. There's plenty of time before June. Don't worry, surely we'll figure something out, you'll pass your NEWTs."

"That's not--" He falters. "Er… sure. We'll try again. With another Patronus, but not before I brew a new batch."

"A new batch? Why wouldn't we use the old one?"

"Because it's _old,"_ he snorts. "Another attempt requires a freshly brewed potion."

"It will take another month?" 

"Yes." I hear when he starts pacing. "Meanwhile, you should practice casting your Patronus, so that when the potion is ready, you're ready, too. You should probably choose another memory."

"Okay, I think I could try."

When Malfoy leaves to get ready for classes, I begin to dress, all the while thinking that what I promised him is easier said than done. 

That Patronus felt like all I was capable of. The memory I had chosen was strong but not exactly happy. The rush, the shock, the sense of falling into the void; he was my anchor and nothing else existed.

I could probably try and evoke the memory I lied about. The one with Ron and Hermione right after the defeat of Voldemort. But I doubt it would be enough to cast my Patronus at all. Probably because I know now what happened to me next. It's no longer a happy memory.

*

 **\- 6 -**

_** It's safer not to look around_

_I can't hide my feelings from you now_

_There's too much love_

_To go around these days…_

"Look what we have here," Malfoy says from the fireplace.

"What?" I turn to him from my spot on the carpet, where I've been lounging with a book. 

It's evening, and we are doing our Herbology essay in my room. I read, tracing the pages with my fingers, and then dictate to my self-writing quill that is scratching briskly over the parchment.

Malfoy, however, is snooping around my room. I don't particularly mind. Though I cannot discern his shape, now my eyes are aware of the warm golden glow of lamps and fireplace, and it’s more than nothing. Better, really.

"I won't tell you…" There's a sound of him fumbling with something over there - a click, and a creak, like a lid opening, and then… music fills the air - a bright, uplifting tune. It beats and sways and swirls around, making me want to rock and bounce along with it.

_**...I could hang about and burn my fingers_

_I've been hanging out here waiting for something to start_

_You think I'm faultless to a 't'_

_My manner set impeccably_

_But underneath I am the same as you…_

“What’s this?”

“A wireless,” he says.

“Where did you get it?”

“It was in the room.” His voice approaches. “Do you like it?” He says above me, and I feel as the tip of his shoe touches the sole of my socked foot.

_**...I could dance all night like I'm a soul boy_

_But I know I'd rather drag myself across the dance floor_

_I feel like dancing on my own_

_Where no one knows me, and where I_

_Can’t cause offence just by the way I look..._

“Hmmm… yes?” I bounce in place, lifting my face up in the direction of his voice.

“Come on.” He suddenly grabs my hand. “Get up.”

“What?” I put the book on the carpet and let myself be pulled to my feet.

He tugs at my hand, back and forth to the music.

_**...And when it comes to blows_

_When I am numbering my foes_

_Just hope that you are on my side, my dear..._

“I can’t dance,” I grin, suddenly shy.

“Can’t or won’t?” He catches my other hand.

“It’s the same.” I feel awkward, but still don't resist.

“No, it’s not.” He drops my hands, catching my shoulders. “Some people are good dancers, others aren’t, but everyone _can_ dance.” [1]

He rocks me by the shoulders, and I finally obey, rocking along with him. 

“Feel free to move your feet as well,” he says. [2]

_**...It's safer not to look around_

_I can't hide my feelings from you now_

_There's too much love to go around these days..._

I shuffle my feet. “It looks ridiculous.”

“Not _quite_ as ridiculous as you think, you could go to the party now!” 

“Oh, shut up.” I wiggle out of his grip and lower myself back down on the carpet.

“No, really!” He drops down next to me. “Halloween’s tomorrow. Are you going?” 

_**...You say I've got another face_

_That's not a fault of mine these days_

_I'm honest,_

_brutal_

_and afraid of you..._

He is a bit breathless. I am breathless, too. Though not from the dance. _Not_ from the dance.

”Yes, why not?" I reply. “It will be in the Common Room downstairs, it's not like I could avoid it anyway.”

“Well, now you’ve learned how to dance, it might come in handy." He nudges my shoulder.

“Fuck off!” I shove him. “I’m gonna dance after a drink or two, more like”

When Malfoy leaves and I am alone, undressing before bed, my fingers brush over something soft on the duvet. I pick it up. 

His jumper. 

I don’t need to see it to know the delicate soft cashmere against my skin. Bringing it to my face, I _inhale,_ giddy with the smell that’s his perfume and also _him._ There, under the perfume - is only him. I want to wrap myself in it, to crawl underneath the delicate fragrance and discover _him_ there. To become him.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m already putting the jumper on over my head. With a sigh, I caress the fabric, my palms spreading it over my bare skin. Down over my stomach - it covers my hipbones and lower belly, he's a bit taller than me - down my sides and the small of my back.

It snuggles a tad tighter across my chest and shoulders, tighter than I'm used to wearing my own things - barely nothing, we’re almost the same. The thought is warm. I tug at the collar, pulling it up over my nose and rub my face in it, breathing his smell in, revelling in the touch. My hands reach down to tug my pants off. I discard them on the carpet and climb into bed, switching off the bedside lamp. Only the faint glow of the fireplace remains.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I bury my nose into the sleeve and inhale, imagining that my arms, my hands, are his.

 _“Draco.”_

His name tastes alien in my mouth, but sacred, too. A secret.

_“Draco.”_

My hand reaches down. I am hard. 

_‘When I put my hands on you…’_

I touch myself to his name on my lips and shudder. 

*

“Harry!” Hermione grabs my hand as soon as I step into the Common Room. “Come, sit with us.”

I let her lead me all the way across the room. In the midst of the party, noise and music, and colourful lights before my eyes, among the people, around the furniture, right into the circle of laughing friends where I recognise Ron’s voice.

“Harry!” He claps me on the shoulder. “Here, sit down, mate.” His hand takes mine, pulling me down on the sofa next to him. Hermione snuggles at my other side.

Ron and I had made up. Next day, after our fight, when he dragged me to the Common Room, I'd apologised. To him and Hermione, and everything was the same again.

Though not quite.

Something had been gone. I'd stuck to Malfoy and had started spending far less time with my friends. They didn’t object, nor did they interfere. Sometimes there are days we don’t talk to each other at all, it just happens.

We are good. Good. As good as we can be. And now I’m happy to be here with them.

“Butterbeer?” Ron asks once we are seated. “Or?...”

“Or?...” 

“Or something stronger, mate,” Seamus claps me on the shoulder. “Are you in?”

“Yeah. What do you have there?”

“Keep your voice down,” Seamus whispers. “Nothing that’s stronger than Butterbeer is allowed. Firewhisky?”

“Yes, please.” I grin, and he thrusts a glass in my hands. “Thanks!” 

I bring it to my lips and take a sip. It’s strong, it burns, it’s good. I take another one.

“Look, Malfoy’s here.” Ron puts his hand over my shoulders. “I thought he wouldn't come.”

“And Astoria Greengrass, too,” Hermione says. “With some Slytherin girls.”

“What are they doing here?” I bristle. “They’re not in our year. They’re not supposed to be here.” I take a sip from my glass.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replies, “it’s hardly forbidden to attend the party, and most likely Daphne invited her sister.”

I say nothing. My good mood suddenly evaporates.

“Seamus?” I call. “May I have some more of your stuff?”

“Yeah, sure!” He takes the glass out of my hands and gives it back, heavy with Firewhisky.

“Thanks!”

“No problem, enjoy yourself!”

 _“Harry,”_ Hermione says as I bring the glass to my lips.

“What?” I sip.

“Maybe you shouldn’t drink that much?”

“Maybe I want to?” I reply. “I’m of age, Hermione, free to do whatever.”

“Hermione,” Ron whispers over my head.

She says no more.

An hour into the party, I’m enjoying myself and can’t be bothered to think of Astoria sodding Greengrass or what she’s doing here. I have no idea where she is at the moment, and it suits me just fine.

Though I _really_ want to know where Malfoy is.

He didn’t approach me here, as I didn’t think he would, and now I have no clue how to find him among this mayhem. I would like to find him, to say hey and offer him a drink. Why not? I’m sure he wouldn’t refuse Firewhisky…

The music abruptly stops to the dismayed voices of people around.

“All right! All right!” Someone says. A girl. “It’s time for ‘Spin the Bottle!’”

“Yeah!” People shout, there’s commotion, feet moving, the mob rearranging itself in the room. The music starts again.

“Who’s gonna play?” Seamus asks.

I get to my feet. “Me.”

Ron and Hermione decline.

With my hand in Seamus’s and my glass in the other, I head across the room.

“Right!” Someone says, as soon as I am seated on the floor. “Let’s begin!”

The sound of a bottle spinning against the hard wooden floorboards goes on and on and seems like it’s never going to stop. I take a sip from my glass. Twice.

“Abigail!” Says the guy who spun the bottle. 

A girl giggles. People are cheering as they both get on their feet into the circle. There's a kiss, I suppose, and both of them take their seats again.

Abigail spins the bottle. It points at another girl. To the laughter of people, they kiss in the circle.

The game goes on and on, I just sit, sipping my Firewhisky and feel good. When….

"Harry." Seamus nudges me. "Come on!"

"What?"

"Into the circle, come on!"

My heart gives a thud, I put my glass down and scramble to my feet, taking a few tentative steps forward. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now… A hand takes mine, pulling me close, there's a nice floral scent, a warm palm on my neck, the softness of skin against my jaw when our lips meet, her breath tastes of mint candies, her hair catches in my stubble, my hands wrap around her waist, pulling her closer, pressing her flush against my body…our tongues meet, my pulse is erratic in my throat…

"You've been drinking Firewhisky," she whispers when we come up for air.

"Susan?" I whisper back.

"Yes." 

We are both breathless. 

Everything comes into focus when the image of Susan Bones as I remember her connects with the feeling of the girl I've just kissed. Her delicate face and honey brown hair… I don't quite remember the colour of her eyes… My lips taste of her lipstick, which is not unpleasant, I trace the smear with my tongue… and let her go.

"You are a hell of a kisser, Harry!" The moment is broken, she giggles, and I grin to the sound of my frantic heart. 

All this made me so aroused, I'm afraid someone might notice the erection pressing against the front of my jeans.

"Now, your turn!" She says, pressing the bottle into my hand. 

I bend down, putting it on the floor and _spin…_ and straighten up… and wait.

"Whoooo-hooo!" Someone shouts when the rattle finally stops.

"Romilda!"

There are footsteps, I brace myself. She comes, and she’s upon me, burying her hands into my hair, pulling me in. She is much shorter than I, I have to bend down, grabbing her around the shoulders for support. Her black hair is curly… I don't have to imagine, I know it's black. She is pretty and soft and smells so nice, she has a wicked smile and dark eyes… I remember without effort, she used to catch my eye. Her hand on my throat digs its nails into my skin, it's downright painful and turns me on even more. My breath is frantic, I feel her body against my crotch and fight a whimper.

"Wow! Wow! Easy!" Seamus shouts. "We want our turn, too! You can continue on the sofa, guys. Just give me the bottle."

Everyone roars with laughter as Romilda and I break apart.

"No!" Her voice is high and clear. "It's _my_ turn to spin."

I catch my breath and grin and nod… and leave her in the middle, heading to take my seat by Seamus's side.

"Here, dude." He catches my hand, pulling me down to sit on the cushion. "That was hella hot, Harry."

"Yeah… where's my glass?"

He thrusts it into my hand. "Need a drink after that?"

"Yeah." I exhale and bring the glass to my mouth. "Need it."

I barely manage to take a sip, when people roar - with excitement and laughter and dismay.

_"Noooo!"_

_"Yessss!"_

_"That's not fair!"_

"Harry!" Seamus claps me on the shoulder. "You're lucky, mate!"

"What? _Again?!"_ Bewildered, I get to my feet, slowly heading back in the centre where Romilda is waiting for me.

Without a warning, she grabs the front of my jumper, wrenching me close, and we _dive_ for it. I open my mouth, letting her greedy tongue in, her hand squeezes my arse when she catches my lower lip between her teeth and _bites_ down. I grunt and loom over her, cupping her face, giving as good as I get. It goes like this, on and on, until the impatient shouts urge us to break the kiss.

"Come _on!_ Guys, you can as well continue on the couch!"

"She put a spell on the bottle!"

"I did not!" Romilda is playful, defiant. "But maybe Harry did?"

"Harry, spin it!" Dean says. "Let's see who next you'll put a spell on!"

My face burning, I bend down and find the bottle at my feet. Putting down I give it a spin. This time, it doesn't take long to wait it out. When it finally stops, all the noise dies down.

"Merlin…" someone says.

Someone whistles, someone laughs.

Not sure what's going on, I stand in the centre and wait.

In silence, reluctant footsteps approach _… lemons in icy water… salt on the wind… sun on the snow… whisper_ _of_ _pine-trees in the hot air…_ shock renders me unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to _anything…_ When firm gentle hands cup my face, when a breath ghosts over my lips, when stubble brushes my jaw, when there's finally a feather-light touch of lips on mine - I freeze. My hands hanging loose, I even forget to close my eyes, I barely have a moment to realise in a shock what's happening, before he withdraws, his palms are gone, his perfume lingers, reluctant to follow his footsteps away from me.

In the ringing silence, someone clears their throat. "Malfoy? It's your turn…"

"I…" he speaks, and the thrill shoots through my guts. "I have to go."

His footsteps retreat. I take a step forward, my feet tripping over the damned bottle.

"Harry?" Someone helps me to my feet.

"Thanks." My palms hurt, I'm suddenly embarrassed. "I… I think I'm done." Releasing their hand, I begin walking, carefully prodding the floor with my feet... "Sorry, sorry guys…" People part before me. "May I?... Thanks…"

"Harry?" Ron suddenly steadies me by the arm. "You alright?"

"Yeah… I just…" I tilt for a moment, leaning into him for support. The Firewhisky has gotten to me, I realise it only now. "I need a… where's Malfoy?"

"He's gone upstairs," Ron replies. "Do you want me to walk you to your room?"

"No, thanks." I release him. "I'm good, Ron, just… would you walk me to the staircase?"

He puts his arm over my shoulders, steering me to the side, through the mob of people, until we stop. He takes my hand, putting it on the bannisters. 

"Are you sure you'll manage?"

"Yes, thanks, Ron." I take the first step. "Thanks. I'm fine. Go back. No, wait… come here."

When he comes close, I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, steadying my swimming head.

"I love you, Ron," I whisper into his shoulder. My eyes burn - just a little - I won't cry. "Thank you."

"I love you, too." He holds me in a rib-crushing hug. "Just so you know… I'm here if you need me. Any time."

"Yeah." I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling a tear roll out of the corner. "Same to you."

He releases me, placing my hand back on the bannisters. "Take care, mate."

"Yeah." I begin climbing. "Go back to Hermione."

He doesn't say anything, I assume he's gone. Slowly, I trudge up the steps. _Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three -_ I count. There are forty-four in this one, and when I finally reach it, taking a turn to the right into the corridor to my room… there's _lemons in icy water... salt on the wind…_ my heart leaps.

"Potter," he says.

I stop dead.

"Malfoy… what are you doing here?" I'm suddenly weak in the knees.

"Going to my room." His voice is flat.

"Why?" My hand finds the wall, and I lean against it.

"Why what?"

"Leave the party so soon."

"Didn't like it much."

"I don't know…" I turn my face in his direction. "It was fun."

"For me, it wasn't."

"Why?"

"It's stupid," he replies.

"I don't know… I enjoyed 'spin the bottle'," I say defiantly. 

I don't know why, but I enjoy the thought of him seeing me kissing the girls. I want to talk about it, I want to rub it in his face. I want to let him know that his stupid peck did absolutely nothing to me. That I didn’t notice it, really.

"You damn well did," he throws, moving away from me.

"Where are you going?"

"To my room." His footsteps walk away.

"But the party has barely begun!" I insist. 

It isn't going as I planned. He won’t talk about it, he won't indulge me. When did he ever?

"Fine!" There's a sound of the opening door. "Go back, then, and snog to your heart's content. Why don't you?" The door closes.

I do go back to the party, because what the hell? Am I not allowed to have fun for once? Why is he so worked up anyway?

I descend the stairs and mingle with the crowd, the game of 'Spin the Bottle' still going on. I contemplate the thought of joining it again, but end up on the sofa between Neville and Ron. I want to have fun, but somehow it's not fun anymore. I refuse Firewhisky and sit, thinking of Malfoy. Of his kiss and why he left. He didn't mention _the kiss_ , but I'm sure it's the reason. He freaked out.

*

Next morning, Malfoy comes to pick me up as usual. We never mention the party or the kiss again, though I think about it all the time. Not about Romilda or Susan or anyone, though with them it was great. 

I think about Malfoy's tentative peck, his body even not touching mine. About his palms - steady and gentle - holding my face, tilting it up just so. About his smell assaulting my senses, about my helpless stupor and wild heart. I even briefly regret I didn't kiss him back. Well, that's fucked up. He wouldn't want that.

Malfoy is distant and holds himself stiffly. He's freaking out, I decide.

Today at potions we brew Amortentia, it isn't helping at all. 

"Done," he says, there's a sound of him putting the lid over the cauldron. "Let it simmer for twenty minutes."

We don't talk as he tidies up the desk, clinking the vials, collecting ingredients into the boxes.

When he finally opens the lid, letting a puff of mist in my face… 

_… lemons in icy water… salt on the wind… sun on the snow… whisper_ of _pine-trees in the hot air…_

My heart drops.

_… the softness of his cashmere jumper sliding over my bare skin… hard ridges of his Quidditch gauntlet… 'I put a spell on you…' … the gasp of his name stuck in my throat, my come smearing in the hem of cashmere… Patronus shooting through my wand to the terror of our broom ride… Dragon searing through the darkness, lighting up a smile in his silver eyes…_

The sound of the pewter lid dropping into place is suddenly deafening as it cuts the smells off. Next to me, Malfoy exhales shakily.

"Do you smell anything?" His voice is strange.

I swallow and close my prickling fingers into fists. "Oh… I don't know… this and that," I manage, "a bit of everything, really." I'm suddenly hot, there's an urge to take my cardigan off. "What do you smell?"

"I'm… not telling you," he replies.

"Scared I may figure out whom you fancy?" I laugh, though it's not a joke. I'm dead serious, and I would give anything to know.

The mere thought that there might be someone suddenly takes all the joy away. 

There is, of course there is. Otherwise, why would he refuse to tell me?

*

I step under the hot water and close my eyes, letting it beat over my face, down my chest and shoulders. My hand reaching down for my cock, I don't even hesitate or pretend _that's_ not what I'm here for.

I imagine Malfoy soaping himself up with the tiny soap bar from the crate in the Quidditch locker room showers. Sudsy rivulets slide over his nipples, making a path in the middle of his chest, down his stomach, over his tiny navel, to finally gather in the coarse hair at the base of his cock. He is hard, he smears the lather along his length. And repeats. I think he's washing himself, but no… his palm is sliding back and forth in a different rhythm. Bracing his other hand against the wall, he thrusts into his fist, making the swollen head meet the resistance of his curled thumb, breaching it each time and withdrawing, to repeat the torture over and over again. I stare. I want to take the tip into my mouth. To let him thrust between my lips, to make a firm 'O' of my mouth into a perfect path for his pleasure. Under the steady strokes of his hand, water is washing the soap off. I want to press my tongue to the pulse point on his rigid neck. I want to slide my arm around his waist, nestling my erection between his buttocks, and take him in my own hand. To touch him and _touch_ him until he shudders. To kiss his nape and shoulder blades afterwards, and bury my nose into his wet hair _… lemons in icy water, salt on the wind…_ the fragrance will be faint, barely there. He will turn in my arms and reach down, finally finding my aching cock… he will hold my hips and kneel before me, taking me in his mouth, into the firm, perfect 'O' of his lips…

I come. Bracing myself against the wall, my eyes full of water. And come, and come.

*

**\- 7 -**

"I don't know," he says, "I don't have one." When I ask him about his Patronus. "I never succeed. Not that I tried too hard."

"Would you like to?"

"I… don't know…"

"I could teach you," I surprise myself. "Or… at least try to."

He agrees. I try. We try together. Each time I work on my Patronus, he tries, too. To me, it comes without effort now, though it hadn’t made any difference the last time we tested the potion again. I avoid thinking about it too much. I just live. 

On weekends, we trudge through the snow to our spot by the Lake, the whiteness of it almost hurtful to my eyes. It takes more than a month, and we are well into December, when one bright afternoon, he finally succeeds.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A sudden flash startles me, I stumble and fall on one knee into the snow, scrambling back to my feet. A silver burns bright against the whiteness before my eyes. At Malfoy's shocked gasp next to me, I reach out, trying to touch the silvery mist. I grasp emptiness, but its essence feels welcoming, there's something almost too familiar about it.

In a few fleeting moments, the silver dissolves, leaving only white.

Malfoy is quiet.

"You did it!" I turn to him.

He doesn't reply, and for a moment I think he's gone. 

"Malfoy? Where are you?" I reach out, and my hand bumps into him. He's very close.

"What was it?"

He doesn't reply.

"No, really?"

"What do you think it was?" His voice is odd, a bit sad, strange for a moment like this.

"What's the matter? Aren't you glad?"

The first time I cast my Patronus, it felt as though I could move the world on its axis.

"Yes, I'm glad."

"What is it?" I insist. "Wait… you don't like its shape?"

He says nothing.

"A peacock?" I laugh. "I bet it's a peacock!"

"No!" Without a warning, he stuffs a handful of snow under my collar.

"You dick!" I yell, trying to get it out. Too late. Under the layers of my coat and woollen jumper it melts into the disgusting rivulets down my back. 

He laughs.

"Just you wait!" I grab the snow in handfuls, sending it in the direction of his voice.

fHis quick footsteps crunch around me. Tugging my gloves off, I quickly make a snowball and hurl it where I think he stands.

_"Fuck!"_

"Aha!" I say triumphantly.

"Fuuuck…" he repeats in a strained voice.

“What?”

“My eye--”

“Malfoy, what?!” I wade through the snow to the sound of his voice. “Where are you?”

“I’m here,” he says, and his footsteps crunch in my direction until he finally touches my sleeve.

“What is it?”  
“Your snowball hit me right in the eye.”

“Fuck, sorry! I didn’t see--”

“Of course you didn’t.” He snorts. “But you aimed like you did.”

“Does it hurt badly?”

“It does.” He links his arm through mine. “I’ll be sporting a black eye tomorrow.”

“Fuck, sorry.” I tug at his arm. “I’m an idiot, I didn’t mean to.” We start walking. “Though you know,” I add. “I’d really like to see it.” 

Hooking his arm around my neck, he feeds me a handful of snow. I shove him and splutter, and we both go down in a tangle of our coats. I kick and thrash and roar with breathless laughter as he tickles my ribs and pokes me in the stomach, and manages to stuff some more snow under my jumper.

“Enough!” I howl, finding myself on my back in the snow as he straddles me, pinning my hands above my head. “Malfoy! _Okay!_ I give up!”

Breathing heavily, he releases me and sits back. “Alright?”

“Alright.” I wipe my face with my sleeve, waiting for him to get up.

He doesn’t. Neither does he say anything, his weight on my hips holding me in place. I am hot and soaked through, my clothes wet inside and out. The cold from the ground is seeping into my back, my hair is freezing, I want him to never get up.

He clears his throat in silence and slowly gets off me. Trust him to read my thoughts and do the opposite.

“Come on,” he says above me, “get up.” He takes my hand, helping me to my feet.

“I’ve left my gloves.” I gesture vaguely around. “There, somewhere.”

“Yeah, give me a sec.” He drops my hand, and his footsteps retreat, only to turn back in a moment. “Here.” He presses the gloves into my palm.

“Thanks.” My fingers disobeying me, I tug them on. “It’s freezing.”

The moment is broken, leaving me annoyed and relieved at once.

“Let’s go?” He offers. “It’s getting late.”  
“Yeah, I can see it, you know.” The whiteness before my eyes has turned grey, telling me that the sun has disappeared. 

I take him by the arm, and we wade up to the castle. Only then does a sudden memory strike me. Well, not a memory - but rather a dream…

“It’s a dragon, isn’t it?” I ask him.

“What?”

“Your Patronus. A dragon.”

“Y-yes,” he says after a brief hesitation. 

“I knew!” My heart strangely flutters at the memory of that dream. “Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

“Just… I don’t know, it’s sort of stupid if you think about it,” he replies. “Isn’t it? My name and all, you know… Cliché. Almost like a peacock.”

* 

The whistle blows. I imagine Ron in the air, taking his position by the hoops. His Gryffindor Quidditch gear, determination on his face. Bitterness is always there - right next to self-pity in my jealous heart. I should have been there with Ron. I didn’t particularly want to come.

The game is to begin in about ten minutes, but the teams already take their positions, listening to the last instructions from Madame Hooch. 

Slytherin - Gryffindor. Malfoy doesn’t play. 

_‘I’m fond of flying, sure,’_ he told me, _‘and I do fly. I just ceased to give a fuck about Quidditch and all that team bullshit.’_

Fair enough, and I do understand him, sure. It’s just every time I think of Ron - up there, without me - I feel sick. 

We are sitting in the Slytherin stands. I don’t know why I let Malfoy drag me here. That’s just what I do these days. I go where he goes. I’ve got used to him - _always there_ ; or am I the one who’s always there and he’s got used to it? We didn’t talk about that kiss at the party. Ever. He never brought it up, so I never brought it up. I’m sure he was embarrassed and wanted to forget it. But I never forgot. How could I, if he’s always right next to me? With his voice and his touch and his perfume. With my hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Hi, Draco!” A girl says near us. 

And another one: “Hi, Draco!”

“Hi, Astoria, Maggie,” he replies. 

“Hi, Harry,” one of them says.

“Hi,” I reply, hoping that they won’t sit with us.

“We’re just… passing by, come Astoria,” Maggie says. “Your sister is up there.”

 _So, Astoria is the one with a lower, more pleasant voice,_ I realise.

“Yes... we’ll go,” Astoria replies. “See you, Draco. Harry.”

“See you,” Malfoy says. And I say nothing, silently urging her to fuck right off.

They move past our bench, and when I think they’re in a safe distance…

“Draco!” She calls. “Catch!”

“Oh!” Malfoy jerks next to me and laughs. “Thank you!”

“What was that?” I ask.

“An orange.” He brings it to my nose.

“Are they gone?”

“Yes.” I hear a faint sound of skin tearing off the orange as he peels it. 

A sweet spray of the tiniest droplets reaches me, and I lick their bright fragrance off my lips.

“Isn’t she kind of… annoying?” I say irritably.

“Astoria? Why?”

“She’s such a show-off and stupid, don’t you think?” 

I don’t know what’s the matter with me… _Oh, I know very well..._ I want to badmouth her, to say ugly things and throw a tantrum. I want him to agree with me and say _‘yes, yes, she’s so annoying, I’m sick of her.’_

“No…” He says slowly. “She’s not?...”

Fuck.

“I mean… she kind of throws herself at you, all the time, haven’t you noticed?”

“No...” He pauses. “Have you?”

“Yes.” My face on fire, I hate myself and my stupid tongue.

“Noticed _how?”_

Fuck, now he won’t give it a rest.

“Do you like her?” I blurt, immediately regretting it.

“Yes.”

“See… you fancy her! That’s why you don’t notice she’s dumb.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, I want to disappear on the spot.

“I don’t _fancy_ her.” He stresses the word. “But I do like her. She’s cool and smart, and she’s not dumb.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

“Yes. What is this all about, Potter?”

“Why don’t you ask her out, then?” I ask petulantly.

“What?” He gives a bewildered laugh. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.” I pull the collar of my coat up against the wind.

“I see,” he says. “Would you like some orange? _Astoria’s_ orange?”

I don’t want Astoria’s orange, but open my hand to him all the same - out of spite. Half of the fruit nestles into my palm. He has divided it into slices. 

“Thanks,” I say, and stuff one into my mouth, chewing angrily.

There’s a sound of him licking his fingers. He says nothing.

I defiantly stuff another slice into my mouth, all the while hoping that Astoria can see me right now, eating half of the token of her affection.

* 

“What does Astoria look like?” I ask in a few days after the orange incident. 

Books scattered around us, we are sitting on the floor in my room.

“Why do you ask?” There’s another question under this one, but he doesn’t ask it. Yet. 

“Curious?” I shrug. “Hermione told me she’s incredibly beautiful.”

“You bring Astoria up all the time, lately…”

I do, like an idiot. I do. I’d better shut the fuck up, but I can’t help myself, poking Malfoy about her at any opportunity. I don’t know, maybe it’s my way of self-preservation. So that when _something_ happens, I’ll be already used to it and prepared.

“Do you think she’s beautiful?”

“Yes, I think she is,” he replies, and my heart doesn’t drop. Nothing new, I already knew it.

“The best way to describe her, I think… is graceful, perhaps?”

“Graceful,” I repeat. 

Shit, that’s worse than I thought. Worse than he is aware of. If he said she had nice tits, I would laugh and relax. But no - he finds her _graceful,_ dammit.

“Yes, and elegant.”

I want to hit him.

“She’s quite tall,” he continues, unaware of my inner turmoil. “Almost of my height, an inch shorter, maybe. Just like you.” 

I want to tell him to shut the fuck up, but wasn’t it I who started this?

“She has long dark hair, shiny and beautiful. She often wears it to one side over her shoulder.”

I lean back against the foot of the bed and close my eyes.

“Her face is… I wouldn’t call it pretty, it’s not as simple as just pretty, it’s… it has very precise, delicate features, a harmony…”

“The what?” I bristle, trying to cover it with a mocking laugh.

“Harmony, Potter, is a--”

“I know what harmony is. You sound like a _poet,_ describing the girl you absolutely _don’t_ fancy.”

He is very close, if I leaned just a little, I would touch his face with mine, and his _smell..._

“I don’t fancy her!” He says in exasperation. “You asked me to describe how she looks. She is beautiful, I have _eyes--”_

He stops abruptly. “Sorry.”

“No problem.”

“Sorry, it came out wrong, I didn’t mean to--”

“I said I’m _fine!”_ I get to my feet. “For fuck’s sake, don’t start that.”

“Okay,” he says carefully, getting up, too.

“I think I’m going to go to bed,” I say, tripping over a book on the floor. “Fuck!”

“Look, Potter--”

“See you tomorrow, good night.” I pull my jumper over my head.

“Good night.” He leaves.

I unbutton my shirt and take it off, and when my wrist catches in the cuff, I swear and wrench it off, hurling it on the floor. I want to hit something. 

I said I’m fine - but I’m not, I’m fucking not. A thousand times Ron apologised to me for the same words he said without thinking, and I didn’t care, really.

But _this,_ now, is something else.

_‘She is beautiful, I have EYES’_

He didn’t mean it like that; I believe he didn’t mean to hurt me. He did.

I am helpless and hopeless, useless, broken, _a burden…_

_‘She is beautiful, I have EYES’_

I hit the bed with my foot and grunt at the pain that shoots through my toes. Kneeling on the floor, I press my face into the duvet and cry.

*

**\- 8 -**

For the next week, Malfoy and I talk very little. Our routine is the same, as though nothing has changed. To me, it feels like everything has. For the worse.

He is distant, the silences are awkward, I don't mention Astoria. It feels as though we've been thrown back to the beginning of the year. That's when I fully realise how far we've come, how different we are now to the us that were before, how much this friendship means to me. In fact, only now, when all the easiness is gone, do I acknowledge it for what it was, do I realise I've been happy.

After classes, I stick to Ron. We no longer hang out with Malfoy in my room in the evenings. My wireless is silent. My Patronus is weak. The other day, when Hermione told me she saw Malfoy with Astoria Greengrass, sitting in the library for the entire evening, I couldn't cast it at all.

He is careful and mostly silent around me in classes. He still walks me to meals and back. We still work together on a Patronus.

He spends time with Astoria now, not every day, but still often. Too often for my liking. When he offers to let me join them on their walk to Hogsmead, I refuse, shutting myself in my room. We planned this weekend together a while ago - to go shopping for Christmas presents. Maybe shopping is too strong a word, he said, he only needed one present for his mother. Now, it's Astoria who is helping him choose it, at this very moment, when I sit in my room, torn between the urge to break down in tears and kick something. Or _someone_. 

Not waiting for Malfoy's return, I knock on Ron's door. There's Seamus and Dean and Neville, too. We hang out for the entire afternoon. Malfoy doesn't show up at lunch. When it's time to go to dinner, I avoid my room. Out of spite, I want to be _not there_ when he knocks on my door.

Later that night, as I sit at the Gryffindor table, something happens.

"Merlin," says Ron, "Merlin's tits!"

"What?"

"Looks like Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass have got stuck under the enchanted Mistletoe in the doorway," says Hermione.

My heart sinks.

Around the Christmas season, tricky Mistletoe tends to appear all of a sudden, here and there, above people's heads. It creeps up on couples walking through the doorways, suddenly hanging down from the corridors' ceilings. Whoever happens to be there gets stuck on the spot, without any means of getting out but kissing the person who happens to be stuck next to them. It's funny, sure, sometimes an entire group of students get into the trap and they have to figure out who has to kiss whom.

"Malfoy's a lucky bastard," someone says down the table.

There's laughter, whistles and cheering from the entrance.

"What's going on?" I ask. I feel ill. I know what. I know.

"They're making out," Ron replies, "and enjoying it, too."

"They're _what?"_ I squeeze my fork in my hand.

"Snogging like crazy, like they've only been waiting for an excuse…"

I can't believe it. And I can. Of course, I can - I knew it all along. Even before he knew it. The first time I overheard her talking to her friends, I knew. I knew she would be trying to steal him. 

"Honestly," Hermione adds, "Mistletoe isn't even there anymore."

I stand up, knocking something over the table, all the while aware of the noise from the doorway. My fork clinks against the floor.

"Harry?"

I can't stand it. Can't fucking stand it.

"Are you finished, Ron?"

"Er… no. I wanted a slice of that fudge and--"

"Okay, I'll go." I push my chair back.

"Give me a few minutes, mate."

"No, um… I mean, it's fine. Suit yourself. I'll manage."

"Harry, five minutes," Ron replies with his mouth full. "And I'll go with you."

There are applause and cheers and it seems like whatever has been going on there is over.

I hate them both.

"No, Ron, it's fine." I step back. "It's okay. Nothing to worry about." 

I turn around and start walking. By now, I manage without my hands in front of me. I'm able to sense when there's anything in my way and stop before bumping into it. There's nothing and no one there as I walk through the open double door of the Great Hall.

Out, out of here. If I could, I would run. I don't. Reaching the main staircase, I put my hand on the bannisters, starting to climb.

"Potter!"

Heat rushes to my face. "What?" I don't turn to him.

"You're alone…" 

"Yes."

"I mean, do you need me to?..."

"No."

I don't need him to escort me to my room. I don't _need_ it. But I want him to. Oh, do I want him to. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what I want. He's only willing to give what is needed.

"No, really." He suddenly catches my hand. I haven't heard him coming this close.

"Really, no." I snatch my hand away. "I can bloody well manage on my own."

Not waiting for his reply, I head up the staircase.

In my room, I take my clothes off, throw them on the floor and head to the shower. I stand under the hot water and don't even bother to wipe my tears. Water takes them away. I myself wouldn't notice the traces because there are none.

I'm an idiot. An utter idiot to even _think_ about it. About him. Like that. The way I did all this time. No, I didn't think. I never did. Never admitted it even to myself. I just felt it all. Have been feeling. All the time. And I do now. I can't not. I wish I could. How can I? When it's his voice and his smell and laughter. His touch. His footsteps that I've learned to recognise out of hundreds. His presence - always there, always a breath away. My hand in the crook of his elbow, my feet moving to the rhythm of his footsteps… _bright lemons in icy water… salt on the wind… sun on the snow… whisper of pine-trees in the hot air…_

_'She is beautiful, I have EYES.'_

The water is hot, my tears are hot, I don't bother to wipe them away.

*

When there's a usual knock on my door in the morning, I don't say _'Come in!'_ I wrench it open and demand _'Who is it?'_

"Hi," Malfoy says. "Are you not ready yet?"

"For what?" 

My heart is hammering. Why is he here? I want to hit him and kiss him and demand an explanation. But first, to hit him.

"For our… I mean--" He clears his throat. "For the Patronus training."

It's Saturday morning, yes, but I've totally forgotten. Or rather thought he wouldn't come.

"I… are you alone?" I'm absolutely not having her there with us.

"Yes?"

"Okay, come in, then." I throw the door open. "I'm going to get dressed." I turn around, heading to pick my clothes from the armchair.

"What do you mean alone?" He closes the door. "Who else would there be?"

"I don't know." I fumble with my jeans, putting them on. "Just asking. In case you brought Astoria with you." I reach for my socks. "I don't think I'd want to do this stuff in her presence."

"Astoria? Why would I bring her?"

"I don't know," I repeat. "Now, that you two are a _thing--"_

"A what?" 

"What do you call it?" I say through my T-shirt over my head. "Dating? Relationship? A boyfriend-girlfriend thing?" I stick my head through the collar and put my arms through the sleeves.

I don't know why, but talking to him about it is much easier than I thought. Much, much easier than thinking about it when I'm alone.

 _"Dating?"_ He asks in bewilderment. "We are not dating."

"Your make out session last night seemed a bit over the top for _not dating."_

"How do you know?"

"Friends told me in detail." I pull the jumper on and sit down on the bed to put on my boots.

"Then friends probably told you, that we were stuck under the enchanted Mistletoe." He approaches. "There was no other way of getting out."

"How convenient," I sneer. "Don't be a hypocrite, don't deny you enjoyed it."

"I'm not denying it!" Malfoy grunts. "I enjoyed it. No less than you enjoyed snogging a half of our year on Halloween!"

"That was different!" I lace my boots and stand up. "I didn't choose whom to kiss!"

"What? I didn't choose the Mistletoe either!"

"I bet you dragged her under it on purpose." I stuff my hands in my pockets. "Otherwise, how did the two of you even get there?"

"What?! Are you okay, Potter?" He snaps. "Do you actually remember that _someone_ had fucked off to dinner without me last night? I knocked on your door, but you weren't there, so I went alone. That's when Astoria--"

"Just ask her the fuck out, admit you wanna date her! Why are you playing hard to get?!" I realise I'm shouting.

"I don't want to date her!" He shouts back. "What the fuck is this all about? Even if I did, what's your problem, Potter?! Are you jealous?!"

"No!" I'm jealous, so fucking jealous. So jealous I can't breathe. I want to strangle him for making me feel like this.

"Aha! You're jealous!" He states triumphantly. "You have a crush on her, this is why you behave like a total dick!"

"What?!" My laugh isn't even pretend.

"Do you want to date her? Make a move!" His voice is cruel. "Ask her the fuck out! Or do you want me to have a word with her about you first?"

"How can I have a crush on her, you dimwit?! I've never even seen her!"

"Well, you behave like you know her very well. Astoria this, Astoria that! What does she look like?" He mimics my voice. "You talk about her all the time!"

"I don't!" I nearly stomp my feet.

"Yes, you do!" He shouts. "Bad-mouthing her is not the best way to get her affection, Potter!"

"Yeah!" I throw back at him. "Snogging her is a better way, you got it right."

"You know what--... Fuck you!"

He wrenches at the door and slams it behind him.

Next morning, amidst the mayhem of students in the Entrance Hall leaving for Christmas, Malfoy doesn't approach me. I don't even know if he's here at all.

I'm not about to ask my friends. 

I put my hand into the crook of Hermione's elbow, Ron links his arm through mine, and we head out. We are going to the Weasleys' for Christmas.

*

**\- 9 -**

"Hi," Malfoy says quietly at our first class after the Christmas break.

"Hi." I turn to him, my heart racing. 

I'm so glad he came, so relieved. I've been sitting here in the back, stubbornly hoping he will approach. I refused to sit with Ron and Hermione.

"May I?..."

"Yes." I remove my bag from the seat next to me.

I should be still mad at him, and I surely still am, but the thought of him caring enough to come to me first… It's not even Potions where we're paired up. It's Charms. He doesn't _have to_ do it.

He does anyway.

Without a word, he sits down and starts retrieving his things from the bag.

"How are you?" He asks. "How was your break?"

"Good. It was good."

It was as good as it could be, with Molly fussing around me and all, with Gin home from her training. She said she cut her hair. When I reached with my hands to touch it, I found it was no longer than mine now, short silky strands between my fingers feeling as though I was stroking a furry cat. I laughed at that and told her so.

We talked and walked, holding hands in the woods, and said _'I love you'_ to each other. But not like that. We both knew - not like that. In her bedroom, I lay my head on her lap, and she stroked my hair. We spent hours like that. I knew Molly urged Gin to spend more time with me, and even get back together. _'After everything the poor boy has been through…it is so unfair....'_

I knew - we both knew - Gin would never do that to me, would never stay with me out of pity. I loved her so much for that. And for other things, too. But not like that. 

We laughed a lot and teased each other. 

_'We never even got to shag.'_ She poked me in the ribs. _'Though we still could, as good friends.'_

 _'I'll think about it,'_ I agreed. 

We love each other. Pity, not like that.

Not like… _well..._

"And yours?" I ask him, leaning a tad closer, _lemons in icy water… salt on the wind…_ now it feels like I've been suffocating all this time when he was away.

"Good," he whispers. "Mother and I. No one else."

I nod. I'm glad. I imagine their strolls in the garden, their arms linked. I imagine Narcissa pouring him tea in the morning in her dainty parlour. For some reason, I imagine them both in fancy embroidered robes, and maybe even I'm not wrong, I don't know. I'm glad, so glad, that he spent all this time only with his mother. That no one else was there, that he didn't talk to other people, that he didn't share himself with someone when I wasn't there with him, when I didn’t know which part of himself he could have given away.

"What's your perfume?" I blurt. I wasn't supposed to say that.

He says nothing.

Fuck. Why can't I keep my mouth shut?

"My perfume? Why?"

"Just…" I shrug. "Curious." I know nothing of these things, but if he told me the name, I'd find a way to purchase it and… just have it for myself. In secret. A bit of him only for myself.

"It's not a perfume," he says. "Not as such. It's a potion."

Of course, it is. A potion. What else did I expect?

"I brew it myself and… add it to my shampoo and shower gel, hand soap, that stuff. Even to my shaving foam, a body lotion..." He sounds embarrassed.

"A _body lotion?"_

"What?"

"What the hell is even _a body lotion?"_ I nudge him with my elbow.

"Fuck off." He jabs me back. "You know zero about personal grooming."

"You must really like it," I say, "to add it everywhere."

"Well, yes? Why would I do that otherwise?"

"I like it too," I mumble under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing… nevermind."

The class begins.

*

We pick up right where we've left off - before the Mistletoe business, before my jealous tantrum and our fight. 

I don't mention Astoria, he doesn't talk about her either. I have no idea what's there between them, is there anything at all? He spends most of his time in my company, and that should be enough for me, I decide. _Fuck it,_ I think, _I'll take anything he is willing to give, as long as I can, and to hell with Astoria._

When on Saturday morning we wade through the snow to our spot by the Lake to cast a Patronus - my hand in the crook of his elbow, a caress of his perfume, my joy bubbling, threatening to burst into sparks of bright _lemons in icy water -_ there's no the faintest doubt in me that I'll succeed.

On Saturday night, he brings me the potion to test. 

When I open my eyes on Sunday morning to his knock on my door and let him in, I suddenly see his vague shape moving in front of me, approaching through the blur.

"I see you!" I spring on my feet, closing the distance in a few strides. 

"Do you?!" His voice wavers.

"Yes! Here's your head." I reach out and touch the side of his face. "Your shoulders." I place my palm on his shoulder and confidently move around him. I don't have to guess now. "Your back!" I clasp him on the back.

I can't discern the details at all or tell the colour of his clothes, but his darker silhouette is very definite against the usual milk-white fog before my eyes. He turns to face me. 

"You turned."

"And now?" Silently, he moves out of my reach, retreating back and to the left.

"And now you've moved." I take a few steps right in his direction. "And here's your hand." I grab his fingers and squeeze.

"Can you see my face?" 

"No." Reluctantly, I drop his hand. "I can't see anything, really, just the outline of your silhouette. I can't tell the colour of your jumper."

"Cinnamon."

 _"Cinnamon?"_ I grin. "That’s not a colour, it's a spice."

"It's a _shade_ , Potter." He touches my arm. "I can't believe it worked. It's working. We'll keep trying until we succeed, until you can see the way you did before."

When later in the Common Room, I come up to Hermione and tell her I'm able to see her, I hear tears in her voice. From then on, she and Ron cease to be hostile towards Malfoy.

"He's changed." I hear her telling Ron. “He's set on making amends and returning Harry his sight.”

I don't know about amends, but he's set on passing his NEWTs. I don't tell her. I like to think that she's not wrong, too.

When he casts his Patronus in front of me, I clearly see a huge shape. It shines silver and bounces around and feels familiar.

"Why isn't it flying?" I ask.

"Flying?" His voice is vague.

"Dragons are supposed to fly, why is it just walking around me?"

"Dragons, yes…" he replies oddly. "Looks like this one doesn't want to."

"Your Patronus is a weirdo, Malfoy."

*

I only notice that winter is almost over when rose petals pour down on our heads as Malfoy and I head to classes on St. Valentine's Day.

We laugh and shake them out of our hair, and suddenly Malfoy reaches under my collar to retrieve some. Hot all over, I mumble _'thanks'_ at the touch of his fingers on my skin, torn between the desire to run and rub my face into his palm like a cat. What if we got caught under the enchanted mistletoe? A ridiculous thought occurs to me. It's February. I am pathetic.

"Truth or dare, Draco?"

Later that evening, I find myself on the floor by the fireplace. There's a party in the Common Room, and as soon as Malfoy and I appeared, girls giggled and dragged us to sit in the circle for the game of 'Truth or Dare.' And now it's Malfoy's turn. I vaguely see him by my side - a darker shape through the yellowish mist from the lamps and the fireplace. Around us, people are sitting in a vague quivering mass.

"Draco, truth or dare?" Maggie repeats.

She and Astoria are here, too. Daphne invited them. As well as Romilda - Malfoy told me - _'she's ogling you, Potter, as though you're naked.'_

 _'Believe me, naked I look impressive.'_ I jabbed him in the ribs.

 _'I've SEEN you naked, Potter--'_ That's when he faltered and said no more.

"Dare," Malfoy replies.

"Oooohh! Okay! I _dare_ you to kiss _the one_ person you fancy!"

Fuck. Not that again. My heart sinks. This game is not just a game, you can't get away with lies, which makes it even more embarrassing. Everyone who agrees to play has a spell put on them, preventing them from lying. Directly, at least. You can avoid questions, you can be evasive, not saying yes or no, but you are unable to tell an outright lie or do a wrong action.

There's a silence. Malfoy shifts beside me, and I prepare myself for his another snogging session with Astoria. Maggie knows what she's doing, damn her.

He clears his throat. "Truth."

"Truth?" She repeats.

"Yes, truth instead of dare."

"As you wish. Well-well…" Her voice is playful. "Since it's Valentine's Day, tell us the truth: are you in love?"

There are giggles around the circle.

"Yes," Malfoy says quietly, and my heart skips.

He is, of course, he is. He refused to tell me what his Amortentia smells like.

"Wow!" I don't know who's speaking, but it's not Astoria. "Now, tell us, who is it?"

There's a deadly silence, while I'm hanging on the precipice, before Malfoy gets to his feet.

"No," he replies. "You've asked your question."

He walks away.

"You can't ask things like that!" Says Hermione. "There has to be a limit."

I suddenly don't want to play either.

*

Spring has come. 

There's Astoria now. They are friends, he said. 

I'm fine with that. Fine.

She's cool, she really is. Nice, smart and witty. And beautiful, yes - he has eyes. 

I don't worry, I don't care, I don't think about it anymore. And if I'm jealous? Well, yes, I am. So what?

He spends most of his time with me anyway. What else could I possibly wish for? What else could I possibly want from him? Is his friendship not enough? For me, it should be.

It should be. It's not. I pretend to myself that it is.

Our further attempts with the potion don't make any progress. He doesn't understand why. I don't tell him that my memories now are tainted with jealousy, rotten with greedy bitterness, they are not enough to cast a Patronus that would make a difference.

When he says that he and his mother are invited by Astoria's parents for the Easter break - I say _'wow!'_ I say _'cool!'_ I say _'That would be fun, you definitely should go.'_

"Are you going to the Weasleys'?" He asks, his voice strangely careful.

We are sitting under the oak-tree, and his silhouette mingles with the sunlit air.

"No," I reply.

"Why?" 

"Don't feel like it."

"But you're going to stay here all alone…"

"Yes." I shrug.

"You know--" He begins. "I mean… I could ask Astoria, surely--"

"No."

"Okay." He doesn't argue.

In a few days, they're gone. Ron and Hermione are off to visit Hermione's parents. I stay at Hogwarts.

*

**\- 10 -**

_*The brighter that we shine_

_Leaves a bigger shadow in our wake_

_A story we can tell another time_

_But if this was love and I was wrong_

_Then I'll admit the mistakes_

_We made_

_Were always mine_

_Always mine..._

Next morning, I walk the grounds alone. I visit Hagrid and stroll along the Lake and sit in our spot, and everything's fine, really. 

I draw my wand and take a deep breath and reach into my heart for the things that I've never shown anyone, things I've been keeping a secret even from myself for a long time. Things that call my Patronus to life.

"Expecto Patronum!"

There's a surge and a brief flash of light that instantly dies down. I can't believe it. It hasn't happened for ages. I haven't failed my Patronus for over half a year. My heart leaps in a panic. No, no, it can't be.

Taking a few steadying breaths, I close my eyes and still, evoking memories, letting them wash over me. When they come, they are not memories - not _just_ memories - they're all I have. 

_… lemons in icy water…_ he's peeling an orange and sweet needles of taste burn on my lips… _salt on the wind…_ my hand in the crook of his elbow… _sun on the snow…_ his fingers are fixing a tie at my throat... _whisper of pine-trees in the hot air…_ his palms covering my eyes… his palms cradling my face a heartbeat before a feather-light kiss falls off his lips on mine…

"Expecto Patronum!"

It bursts in a blinding silver, soaring high, filling me with joy, making me howl in despair. Searing-bright, it is more powerful than anything I cast before, but somehow it feels lacking, taking a part of me away. It is alien, but very familiar, too, unlike any Patronus I've ever cast. Swooping in a flash of silver, it dives into the sky.

My face turned upwards, I stare at the silver spark with my blind eyes. 

I understand nothing.

_… lemons in icy water…_

Blood rushes to my face, I whirl around. 

"Hi," he speaks close to me. Close enough to see his silhouette.

"You're…" My face is on fire. "You're back."

"Your Patronus," he says in a strange voice, “it’s…”

“What?” 

“It’s different." He comes closer.

“What do you mean? It does feel different, though… less happy if that makes any sense.”

"It probably does," he mumbles.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you here, anyway?" I ask. "When did you return?"

"In the morning. Your map showed you here."

"Why did you leave? You said you and your mother were invited--"

"Mother's still there, I didn't feel like staying."

"What happened? How's Astoria?"

"Nothing happened, it's just…"

"What?" There's a tightness in my chest.

"Looks like she wants more than I can give, so it was kind of… unfair to lead her on."

Why is he telling me this?

For a moment, my heart sings, only to crash heavily on the ground. I remember the game of truth and dare. "So it's not Astoria… the… someone you're in love with."

"No, it's not," he replies quietly.

"Do I know this person?" I try a smile. 

I regret I can’t see the way he looks at girls around, otherwise, I would have figured it out by myself.

“Yes.”

“And does this person like you back?”

“Not in the same way… I don’t think… I didn’t think - until very recently.” He moves to stand before me.

"Why?"

"You see… I kissed that person… once. It was just a peck, it wasn’t the right time and place... I got embarrassed and didn’t say anything, and that person never said anything either.. So I thought…” 

“That she doesn’t feel that way about you?” He kissed someone, and I never knew. All this time, I was mad at Astoria. All this time he carried a secret - someone else’s presence - in his heart.

“It’s not a _‘she’..._ and...May I ask you something?” 

My heart leaps, even before I understand his words.

_It’s not a she_

_It’s not a she_

“Yeah?”

“Harry, if you had ever stolen a kiss from someone… how would you give it back?” [3]

My hands reach up to touch his face, to run my thumb along his jaw, to find his lips with my fingers. 

“Like this,” I whisper. 

My whole body trembles.

I lean in - a tiny movement, just a fraction, because he’s very close - and finally kiss him. With a sigh, he responds - barely there, as though he’s afraid to breathe.

_… lemons in icy water… salt on the wind… sun on the snow… whisper of pine-trees in the hot air…_

“Like this,” I repeat, and cradle his face, feeling the scratch of his stubble under my palms.

His hands slide around my back. 

My mouth turns greedy. My kisses turn frantic. My heart goes mad in my chest.

“Like this.” I am giving him back all the kisses I had stolen in my dreams. 

“Your Patronus is a Dragon,” he whispers later - much, much later - when we are both breathless, trembling, wild, when we can no longer stand it.

“What?” I say against his lips.

“Just now. I… stood here for a while, watching you…” He locks his arms around my shoulders, his forehead leans against mine. “When it appeared - it wasn’t your Stag, it was a Dragon… and then I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew that you... Maybe _that_ person returned my feelings.”

“Draco,” I whisper, feeling the touch of his lips over my eyes

*

I trace his eyebrow, sliding my fingertips down over his temple… along the side of his face and jaw… his chin is pointy - of course, it is - I grin, I _know_ his face, always did - every intimate detail and sharp line… his thick eyelashes and silky eyebrows… 

I've never touched him like this before.

My thumb lingers on his lips - soft and tender, like the flesh of a fruit - my palm rests against the warmth of his throat, only to slide around the side of his neck, under and up, feeling the touch of shortly cropped hair on his nape.

I run my other hand over the top of his head, back and forth. "Your hair is longer here." 

It's thick and not at all soft, I realise. I imagine fair strands between my fingers, their odd shade of platinum blond.

"I always wanted to touch it."

"What?" He laughs.

"Yes." I press my fingertips into his scalp. "Always wanted to do this."

"You may do this to your heart's content." He shifts his head on my lap.

"I like your face." Gingerly I touch his eyelids, feeling a flutter of eyelashes as he blinks.

"Glad to hear." He covers my hand with his.

I shift my legs on the carpet and bend down, seeking his lips with mine. His hand on my nape pulls me down, and our faces meet.

"It's late," he whispers into the kiss, "I should go."

I press my nose to his. "You don't have to. Unless you want to."

"I…" Pushing into my chest, he sits up. "I don't know…"

The moment is broken, he gets to his feet, leaving me sitting on the floor. My heart suddenly racing, I lean back against the foot of the bed.

"Okay, then…" I push myself off the floor and stand up.

It's suddenly not that simple, we suddenly absolutely _must_ do something about it. 

On our stroll back from the Lake, I put my hand into the crook of his elbow, but he suddenly dropped his arm, and when my palm fell right into his, he caught my fingers and squeezed, pulling me along. Following him up the hill, I thought that I could probably cast a thousand Patronuses.

The castle stood empty. We ate our lunch in the oddly silent Great Hall and headed to my room. When the door closed, he took my face in his palms and kissed me long and slow, as though we had all the time in the world. We did.

"You know," I told him, "when you kissed me in the game of Spin the Bottle…"

"What?" He whispered into my neck.

"Nothing, just… I was so shocked."

"Me too." His arms locked around me. "It was awful."

"Awful?" I poked his stomach. "Watch it, Malfoy!"

He laughed, pulling me away from the door. "I felt awful, having to give myself away in front of all those people. I was jealous and…"

"Jealous?" Hearing him admitting it felt so satisfying, exhilarating, I wanted to know more, to know everything, to put the pieces together and figure out what my own thoughts were at the time, what my fears were, to find out he felt the same. "Go on…"

"What?"

"Go on, tell me. I'd like to know." I reached the bed and lowered myself down on the floor against it.

"It's a long story." He sat next to me.

"I have time."

Suddenly, his head was on my lap. "Okay, then. Where do I begin?"

"At the beginning." My fingers slipped into his hair.

"Well... When I put my eyes on you, I fell in love with you," he says solemnly.

"What? No."

"No," he agreed. "But you're a sap and would like me to say that."

"Piss off!" I tugged at his hair.

"Potter!" He jerked. "That hurts."

"Sorry." I bent down for a kiss, but he turned his face away, and my lips bumped into his ear. 

I caught the earlobe between my teeth, he whined - it went like this… We kissed and talked and kissed again. 

"May I touch your face?"

"Go on," he said.

I did. We didn't notice when it got dark. Then he got up to switch the bedside lamp on and lay his head back down on my lap.

And now he suddenly _should go_.

Heat spreading down my limbs, I am suddenly embarrassed, suddenly aroused, suddenly not sure what to do next.

"I mean… I could stay?" He sounds nervous. "If you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

"Unless you--"

"No. I want you to stay."

"Okay."

"You may sleep here if you want."

"Okay."

"Draco."

"What?"

I close the distance between us. "Relax, okay?" I find his hand. "We don't need to…"

"Yeah…"

"I have no idea how to do this anyway." Fuck. My face is hot.

This time he laughs, but there's something like relief, too. "Okay." He drops my hand. "Give me a sec."

He retreats, dissolving into the golden fog. The bathroom door creaks.

I exhale and reach for the hem of my sweater, pulling it over my head. My T-shirt follows. I get rid of my jeans, leaving them on the floor, and climb into bed in my boxers. And switch the lamp off.

He returns from the bathroom and fumbles near the bed for a long time.

"What are you doing?"

"Hanging my clothes," he replies. "And yours, too."

"You don't have to."

"I know, Potter."

The bed dips under his weight as he finally comes. I shuffle to the side, leaving him more space.

"No, move closer," he says.

I shuffle back.

His arm snakes around me under the blanket. "I'm not staying here to sleep on the other side of the bed, _miles_ away from you."

We lie. He breathes into my neck, and I feel the pressure of his erection against my thigh. I am hard, too. And he knows it. We both know. We don't do anything. I don't know why. It already feels too much.

His thigh slides over my groin, his knee rests on my hip. "You've left your pants on," he says.

"Yeah." I put my hand on his arse and with a jolt realise he is naked. "You haven't."

"I haven't." He tightens his arm around me. "I sleep naked."

"Do you? You never told me."

He snorts into my shoulder. "Why would I?"

"I don't know, just… I'd have liked to know that." I shrug.

"You're ridiculous, Potter."

"You have a nice arse."

"Yours isn't that bad either."

"How do you know?"

"I learned that when you removed your pants in the shower."

"Ogling me, were you?"

"I was."

We sleep.

*

"I dreamt you were sleeping next to me," I say as my hand bumps into him in the morning.

He leans for a kiss and lingers… and withdraws. "I am next to you. Get up."

I yawn, stretching my arms above my head.

His hands are on me - on my sides and stomach and chest - everywhere. 

"Get up," he says into my navel.

I double over with laughter, trapping his head with my hands.

"We should try your Patronus again." His words are hot against my stomach. "Can't wait to test this batch"

"It's Easter break, can't your project wait, now when we're--"

"It can't wait." He lifts his head. "It will be ready tomorrow. If we don't try it out in 72 hours, it will be wasted."

"There's still time till June," I shrug. This chat suddenly takes my good mood away.

"Aren't you eager to try it now?" He asks.

"No. It won't work anyway."

He sits up. "No, now the chances are that--"

"Chances are non-existent, Draco." I move away from his touch. "You know it as well as I do."

"No… I don't know that." His voice is flat.

"Well, I'm telling you--"

"We've already succeeded, haven't you noticed?" Getting out of bed, he heads to the armchair.

"It's the most we could make," I say.

"So this is what you think? Then why do you even bother?"

"I promised to help you with your project. It was your idea." This is getting out of hand. Why the hell would he bring it up now, when everything was okay, when it was perfect? "You care about this assignment way too much."

"It's not about the project, you dick," he says angrily. "I've been doing my best to help you. Or do you want to stay blind forever?"

"Oh, you can't stand it, can you?" I say viciously. "Blind I'm not good enough, yeah?"

"You know what, Harry?" He is fumbling with his clothes. 

I know _. 'Fuck you!'_ \- is his usual line when he's like this.

"Fuck you!" He doesn't disappoint.

His silhouette retreats, and there's a sound of the opening door. "Come find me when you pull your head out of your arse." 

The door slams shut.

"Fucker." With a growl, I fall on my back. 

There's a knock on the door.

"Come in!"

The wards shift, the door opens again. 

"Is it you?"

"Yes."

"I already have," I say. "Come here."

"What?"

"Pulled my head out of my arse. Come here."

"Why would you be such a dick?!" He says. "I've never made this about your blindness. Do you expect me to start now?"

"No…" I sit up again. "I… yes, I guess I do."

"Well, you shouldn't." He closes the door. "I'm not going to."

"Don't." I grimace. "I don't want you to. That would be awful."

"It's not about my project or my NEWTs, you dimwit." He approaches. "And not about how your blindness feels to _me_." He sits on the bed. "It's not about me. Even if you stayed blind forever, it wouldn't make any difference. To me. I really don't care, you idiot."

My heart tight, I shuffle closer and find his hand.

"You're enough the way you are," he continues, his voice distant. "But for you it's not enough, it makes all the difference to _you._ That's why I keep trying."

That's what he'd been doing all this time. I swallow a lump in my throat and bring his hand to my lips. "Sorry," I mumble, ashamed. "Give me a sec. We're gonna try my damned Patronus."

*

That very night he brings a sample to my room.

Powerful and bright, my Patronus took no effort at all. As soon as it surged from my wand in a blinding rush of happiness - I knew it wasn't a Dragon. It was warm, it brimmed with joy, it felt complete and content and visceral. _Mine._

_Prongs._

"It's a Stag!" Draco said in awe. 

"I know!" I laughed.

"Hold on! Patronus Essentia Liquidus!"

Now, he hands me a vial. "Drink."

Carefully, I take it from his hand and raise it at him in a toast. "Cheers." 

I drink. Once I'm done, Draco takes the vial away and kisses me. 

This time, I know, it's different. We are going to make it so. My hands reach his throat, finding the buttons. One by one, I pop them open - all the way down, there are so many - my fingers are clumsy, and the buttons are so small. I drop his shirt on the floor. He takes the hem of my jumper and pulls it over my head. And then my T-shirt.

"You don't have buttons."

I swallow and unfasten my belt. By the sound of it, he's doing the same. I push my jeans down, getting stuck in them around my ankles. 

"Fuck."

He is beside me on the floor, his hands untangling my feet from the jeans, removing my socks.

"Thanks."

His hands are on my hips. "May I?"

"Yes." My throat is dry.

He pulls my boxers down and stands up. I feel his erection against my belly. I want to touch it, but I'm still shy. He takes my hand, leading me to the bed.

I push him on his back. "I want to touch you."

"Touch all you want." He pulls me into a kiss.

I touch him all I want. 

I slide my palms up and down his thighs, feeling a scratch of tiny hairs against my skin. When my fingers reach into the underside of his knee, he sniggers.

"Ticklish?"

"Yes."

His calves, down down… "You have bony ankles."

"So do you."

"I know."

The soles of his feet and dainty toes.

"I've never seen your feet." I trace each toe with my thumb.

He sits up. "Come here." His hand is in my hair.

I come.

Looming over, I nuzzle at his neck and chest and lick a path down to his navel. I find tiny beads of his nipples, worrying them with my tongue. He sighs and holds his breath, all the while drawing circles over my shoulder blades.

"You smell so good."

His chest is smooth, but for scarce hairs, coarse against my lips.

"Is your chest hair blond?" I mumble.

"What?" He falls back with a laugh. "You're ridiculous. No, it's not."

I smile into his stomach, moving down to nuzzle a path down his belly.

"So I assume _this_ here isn't, too." I press a kiss at the base of his cock.

His stomach tenses. His hand on my neck nudges my head up. 

"Come here."

I crawl back over him until our faces meet. His outline is blurred in the yellow glow of the lamp. I am dying to know the look on his face, the way he looks at me now.

Straddling him, I sit up. "Do you find me handsome?"

"Yes. Especially with your dick standing up like that." He touches me, wrapping his hand around the base.

"No… Ah-hh… really?" I put my hand over his. "Do you think I'm good-looking?"

"You are," he whispers. "It doesn’t matter what I think, but yes, I think you are."

He starts moving his hand under mine, and it all rises up so swiftly that I have to stop him.

"Wait." Finding his cock, I lean down and kiss him. "Like that." 

We slide together, our cocks trapped between our joined palms. I move, and he moves, and I move. Until he's reaching for my lips, my gasp meeting him in the middle, until a perfect torture of his touch melts me against him in a surge of heat… I breathe into his neck, into the hot skin and fluttering pulse. I lick it. And again, making him shudder all over.

He hooks his leg around the back of my thigh, tracing my spine with his fingers. "You _are_ good-looking, Potter. You have no idea… and a hell of a kisser."

I don’t know if he’s joking or not. Probably both. It’s hard to tell. 

I wrap my arms around him and think that it doesn't matter to me how he looks.

*

I open my eyes to the sun spilling between the curtains. To the empty pillow on the other side of the bed. To the dark-brown blanket and the blue armchair, to his shirt hanging off its back.

Scream caught in my throat, I bolt upright. I didn't know it would feel like that. So many things, so many colours, so much _everything_ , my head swims.

The bathroom door creaks open, I turn my head. He is tall and pale, and thin. Naked. His hair falls in his eyes. I stare. At his limp cock and coarse darker hair around it. At his thin stomach, at the Dark Mark on his forearm. 

"Hey," he says. 

Our eyes meet and he flinches, a shock of recognition surging through his gaze.

I slide off the bed, taking a step towards him. His eyes are wide.

"Harry?"

I look him up and down.

He frowns. "Harry? Do you--"

I take his face in my palms and bring our foreheads together. "Yes."

His eyes are silver, shocked and beautiful. I kiss them. "Yes."

His arms wrap around me. "I can't believe it," he whispers.

"Yes," I repeat, pouring kisses over his forehead and eyes and nose.

His face is wet. No. My face is wet. 

"When I put my eyes on you…" I don't know what I'm saying. "When I put my eyes on you…" I repeat, again and again, smearing tears over his skin.

"Yes," he replies, "Yes."

*

"Hi, Draco!" 

"Hi." He doesn't drop my hand.

"Hi, Harry." Astoria smiles and looks down at our laced fingers. "Glad to see you. Glad to know you're all right. Draco wrote to me about it."

"Yes. Thank you." My smile is genuine.

"Well, see you around." She moves up the staircase, levitating her trunk behind.

"You were right, she's beautiful." I look in her wake.

"She is, and nice, too," he replies. "It's just you were such a dick."

"I was jealous." I squeeze his hand. 

We move down the steps.

The students are returning from the Easter break. I see Neville in the doorway, I see Susan and Dean… I see Hermione, talking to Ron, removing her scarf on the way. She finally notices me. I raise my hand in greeting. She stops dead. And stares in shock. And tugs at Ron's hand. And runs towards me through the crowd.

Dropping Draco's hand, I dash down the stairs, pushing among the people on my way.

"Harry!"

I catch her in my arms.

Ron puts his arms around us both. "Harry… how?"

"You can see us! You can see." Hermione says through tears.

"Yes." I force a lump in my throat down.

"How, Harry?" Ron squeezes my shoulders.

"He succeeded--" Hermione turns around to look at Draco, still standing alone by the staircase.

"Yes. He did it." I beckon at him.

Reluctantly, he approaches. I grab his hand.

 _"He_ did it," I repeat.

And I am crying, and Hermione's crying and even Ron sniffs. His eyes guarded, Draco looks between the three of us. I pull him close, wrapping my arm around his waist.

I see understanding in Hermione's eyes, it seems she isn't surprised at all. Ron clears his throat.

It should be awkward, but it's not. Not at all, I've long since ceased caring. After everything that has happened, I couldn't care less.

I extricate my fingers from Hermione's grip and turn to Draco. When my hands reach to cup his face, he flinches, beginning to say something. Too late. I shut him up with a kiss.

In front of my bewildered friends. In front of the entire Hogwarts. In front of the whole world.

I kiss him.

I kiss, and kiss, and kiss him.

I am kissing him.

*

**\- 11 -**

Later, Hermione told me. She knew. For a long time. Since before Christmas, she said.

"What do you mean?" I was suddenly shy again.

"Did you see his Patronus?"

"It's a Dragon."

"Did you see it?"

"No, why--"

"So he told you."

"What do you mean?"

"Once, I was walking over the grounds and saw the two of you by the Lake. You were teaching him to cast a Patronus. When he finally did it, it was a Stag, Harry."

"What?"

"It was a Stag."

I snuggle into him, pulling a blanket over us both. 

"You lied about your Patronus."

Peering into my face in the dark, he doesn't reply.

"Now, it makes sense. Remember I asked you, why wasn't your Dragon flying?"

"Yes." His voice is soft. 

"Because it wasn't a Dragon," I continue. "Stags don't fly."

"Yes."

"You talked oddly, and I--"

He kisses me. Soft lips on mine, his hand caressing my face.

"Yes," he whispers, "I lied."

"Expecto Patronum!" Our voices say as one.

Out of my wand, Prongs leaps forward. 

In a flash of silver, Dragon erupts from his wand. Searing bright and shining, it soars into the sky, its huge silver wings blinding the sun.

"It's the same one that you cast," Draco says.

"I know. I saw it before."

"Saw it before?" He turns to me.

"In a dream. I dreamt about you." I reach for his hand.

_'I put a spell on you…'_

_His palm pressed to my heart._

_'Expecto Patronum.'_

_A searing Dragon tore the darkness, for a fleeting moment letting me see a flash of a smile in his silver eyes…_

"Draco."

*

**\- 12 -**

**_Epilogue_ **

I adjust my glasses.

"How can I help you, Mr. Potter?" Asks the witch behind the counter.

"Can I see Mr. Draco Malfoy, please?"

She measures me up and down. "Yes. This way, please." She gestures at the corridor to her left.

"Thanks." Under her gaze, I head around the counter and down the corridor. I know perfectly well the way to his office, thank you very much.

"Hi!" I say to his back, as soon as I open the door.

"Hi." He doesn't turn from the cauldron. "Forty-two seconds and I'm done."

I come up, carefully peering over his shoulder at the bright golden liquid.

 _… lemons_ _in icy water… salt on the wind… sun on the snow… whisper of pine-trees in the hot air…_

"Done." He extinguishes the flame under the cauldron, closes the lid and turns to me. He's wearing goggles.

"You're brewing your _perfume_ at work?" I raise my eyebrows at him.

"What if I am?" He takes the goggles off. "It's the end of the day. St. Mungo's have taken their order already." His face is red, hair plastered to his forehead, red blotchy marks from the goggles are around his eyes. 

He looks ridiculous.

I kiss him.

"Hang on." He pulls away, disentangling himself out of my arms, and reaches into the drawer behind me. "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Close your eyes."

I obey. There's a faint pop of a stopper.

_… bristling rosemary needles… shimmering smoke swimming at twilight… sandalwood in a leather gauntlet… the sweetness of treacle tart…_

"Whoa!" I open my eyes. He's holding a vial under my nose. "What's this?"

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah… it's weird, but I like it."

He puts the stopper back, handing me the vial. "It's yours. Your birthday present."

"My birthday present?" 

"Yes." He pecks me on the lips. "Happy Birthday."

"It's October. My birthday was two months ago."

"It was supposed to be finished by then, but something had gone awry. It's ready now."

"Thanks." I close my palm around the vial.

"Are you going to wear it?" His arm snakes around my waist.

"Yes. How did you come up with it? It feels very… I don't know… Me? If it makes any sense."

"Well, it does. It _is_ you. It's how you smell. To me." He peers at me from under the fair strands across his eyes. "That's how Amortentia smells. To me."

I hug him and squeeze him until his spine cracks, until he protests in a breathless laughter.

"I knew I was in love with you the day we brewed Amortentia," I whisper into the crook of his neck. "When you opened the lid and there were your _lemons_ and stuff all over the place."

"When I put my eyes on you, I fell in love with you," he replies, his eyes dancing with mirth.

"No." I reach around him to unfasten his potioneer's apron.

"No," he agrees. "But you're a sap and love me saying that."

"Yes." I hang the apron on the hook. "I love you. Now let's go home. Dinner's waiting."

"Kreacher has outdone himself?" He takes my hand.

"Absolutely. Roast poark, red wine and all."

"Oh, let's go then, I’m starving!" He pulls me along, and I follow him out of the lab, down the corridor and past the lady behind the counter.

"Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter."

"Goodbye, Annabel!" Draco tugs at my hand.

"Goodbye," I wave at the unimpressed witch.

And we go.

**~ the end ~**

  
  


_____________________________________________________________________________

[1] - Quote from the film “The Way He Looks” (2014, dir. Daniel Ribeiro)

[2] - Quote from the film “The Way He Looks” (2014, dir. Daniel Ribeiro)

[3] - Dialogue from the film “The Way He Looks” (2014, dir. Daniel Ribeiro)

* “For the Last Time” by Dean Lewis

** “There’s Too Much Love” by “Belle & Sebastian”

_***_

**_I am on Tumblr:[big-draco-energy](https://big-draco-energy.tumblr.com)_ **

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!<3  
>  You are welcome to share your thoughts in the comments below :)
> 
> ***
> 
> This work is part of "Lights, Camera, Drarry" (LCDrarry), a film-, TV- and theatre-inspired Drarry fest.  
>  The creators will be revealed on [tumblr](http://lcdrarry.tumblr.com) and [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LCDrarry2020/works) on 15 June 2020.
> 
> Please show your appreciation to the creator with kudos and comments :)


End file.
